


The Mystery Knight

by Longclaw_1_6



Series: Targaryen Empire [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: After Long Night, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BlessedFic (GoT), BlessedTargcest, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, Daenerys Targaryen Lives, F/M, Fluff and Smut, King Jon Snow, Mystery knight, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, R Plus L Equals J, Sansa Stark supports Daenerys, Season 8 is shit, Smut, Targaryen Restoration, Targlings (ASoIaF), Tourney at Harrenhal, Wedding Night Smut, Weddings, fuck D&D
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24277129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Longclaw_1_6/pseuds/Longclaw_1_6
Summary: Ten years after the Long Night, the Empire is at peace. As such, each year Emperor Jon and Empress Daenerys commemorate their victory with a grand tourney at Summerhall. But with Prince Rhaegar and Princess Arya wishing to be betrothed, will they see this tourney as their chance to prove their love for each other to their parents?Set in the world of Empire of Ice & Fire
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Original House Targaryen Character(s)/Original House Targaryen Character(s), Podrick Payne/Sansa Stark, Robb Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Series: Targaryen Empire [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582348
Comments: 136
Kudos: 129





	1. Betrothals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vaelerys_Targaryen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaelerys_Targaryen/gifts), [bykim0120](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bykim0120/gifts).



> Hi everyone. Today is a sad day... the one year anniversary of the death of Game of Thrones at the hands of he worst writers since William Luther Pierce: David Benioff and Dan Weiss (believe me, Luther Pierce is bad; for D&D to be lumped in with him is fitting). I can't say anything good about the atrocious cloud of mustard gas that season 8 was, so I can only try to detoxify the bullshit with something actually good and fitting for the characters.
> 
> And thus here we are, a short story in the world of my first GoT fic, Empire of Ice and Fire. This will be a more fun and lighthearted story, which I think we all need.
> 
> Enjoy and review :D

_The Lightbringer and Mother of Dragons! Long may they reign!_

Sword jostling at his side, Ser Samwell Tarly - or 'Little Sam' as he was more commonly known, an ironic name since he was at least only half a head shorter than Duncan the Tall had been - reached the corridor leading to the Imperial apartments. To think he would have been used to Summerhall as he was with Dragonstone, Horn Hill, and the Red Keep… but no. The place still tired him out as he tried to find his way around. But his mood improved at spotting his fellow brothers of the Kingsguard.

Well… brother and sister. Who were currently locked in a lazy fusion of lips and tongue against the wall… "Mance… Elia…"

Pulling back, the hulking son of the legendary Tormund Giantsbane had a scowl stretched onto his face. "You couldn't have waited half a minute longer, Sammy?" His fire-red hair only made the ire greater - a trait seen in all but Tormund's half-Dothraki brood, especially his sister the Lady of the Fist and head of House Giantsbane. "I was enjoyin my day."

A smack on the head was delivered from Elia Sand, trusted spearwoman of the Kingsguard and erstwhile lover of the Free Folk knight. "Sorry about him, Sam. What do you need?"

"Their Graces…"

"That we can't do," she shook her head. "They're… um… busy." First their parents and now them - all of the five were quite close, called the return of Rhaegar and Arthur Dayne, but none except perhaps the Emperor and Empress had as close a relationship as the twin Prince and Princess. "You're welcome to try and rouse them…"

Which was exactly what Little Sam did. "Prince Rhaegar!" he banged on the door in the tone of a close friend. "Princess Arya! Open the door."

Within, the eldest Princess of House Targaryen wished to answer her friends and guards, but was rather preoccupied by the rather needy tongue forced into her mouth. Plundering her as the same person's fingers were shoved down her trousers - working at her nub. "Ooooh…" she mewled, her lover's mouth moving to the expanse of her neck. "We have to stop…" Arya whispered.

"No," came the reply, licking at the creamy flesh. He smirked as she tilted her head back to grant him more access. _Her words say stop but her body says keep going._

"Brother…" Arya ground out, biting her lip as the fingers assaulted the bundle of nerves. Pleasure shot through her, Arya bucking her hips. "We need to be elsewhere."

Crown Prince Rhaegar grinned wider, sinking down to his knees. Hands reaching to pull down her trousers just enough to expose her glistening mound. "I'll just have to hurry then." Gazing up at his beloved - the woman he had gone through hells on earth alongside - the Prince knew his heart was forever taken by the silver-haired beauty.

At his tongue finally tasting her wet folds, Arya gasped. Biting back a wanton moan more suited to a whore than a Princess. _"Kessa… Rhaegar… paktot konīr,"_ she cried in High Valyrian… along with other, unintelligible words. Arya ran her hand through his raven curls, digging her nails into his scalp. The contrast of his shaggy Northern locks and the vibrant purple of his eyes only seemed to make Arya wetter. _Gods… he's perfect..._

"There, my love. Cum hard for me..." Her mouth dropped open, lips quivering in a silent moan. Rhaegar felt her heart beating out of her chest as her hips bucked into his mouth. Her soft whimpers only spurred him on. "Fuck, Arry…" He lived for these moments, attention solely focused on her.

The knocking persisted. "Your Graces!" Ser Samwell was persistent.

"Hurry, my love… hurr," Arya begged, but as soon as his tongue started agaist her nub all cares were tossed aside. Rhaegar was flicking her clit, again and again, the world lost to her - hurtling towards her climax. "Brother…" One hand almost white as it clenched his hair, Arya screamed into her palm. Shattering massively, flooding his mouth with her juices. "Gods… Rhaegar…"

Licking his lips, Rhaegar stood and pecked her on the lips. "Pull up your trousers, love." Without hesitation he squeezed her breast and headed for the door. Opening it when she finally pulled up her trousers. "Apologies," Rhaegar told the awaiting Kingsguards. "Was… preoccupied."

Elia took a peek at the flushed face of the Princess and cocked an eyebrow. "I can see that, my Prince." While respectful of Arya's maidenhead in her status as the Crown Princess, both of them weren't exactly discreet. Unlike her and Mance, they needed to keep quiet and it was a pain covering for them.

Not that they truly minded - all three were the best of friends. "You'll have to teach me that trick, next time," Mance chuckled, arm going around Elia. "Need to make this one make those noises." Elia punched him in the side for that… given their history though, she'd be on her hands and knees begging for him by late afternoon.

Little Sam, on the other hand, blushed with his father's modesty. "If we may… the Emperor and Empress request your presence at the Small Council chambers."

Arya gasped, covering her mouth with her hand as Rhaegar's eyes widened. "Holy shit, that's this morning?!"

"Where's my squire?!" Rhaegar bellowed, equally panicked.

Eying each other, the Kingsguard chuckled. "Wait, let us help." Both men moved to grab the leather cuirass while Elia dashed to attend to Arya.

The Pack stuck together.

* * *

The click of two sets of boots echoed through the massive halls of the rebuilt Summerhall Palace - high winter residence of House Targaryen under the warm light of the Dornish Marches sun. Targaryen Household Guardsmen and Unsullied all bowed maids curtseying as the Crown Prince and Princess hurried from corridor to corridor. Direwolves following close behind in a casual trot. Ignoring the beautiful views of the sparkling lake or vibrant gardens that stretched out double the acreage of the palace itself, they rushed to make the meeting before they were late.

Too late… rather.

Sure enough the corridor just outside the Small Council chambers saw important Lords and councilors streaming inside. Much as both monarchs tried to appoint well-accomplished, shrewd women to their inner circle, trousers and armor outnumbered dresses by about four to one. Some things were simply too stubborn to change, even for the Lightbringer and Mother of Dragons.

One well-stitched grey dress - tight across the figure but modest in cut - belied the most powerful figure in the Empire not named Targaryen. Exactly who the twins sought to find. "Aunt Sansa!" cried Rhaegar, catching the Hand of the Emperor just as she was about to duck in the chambers.

Glancing to her left, Sansa spotted her niece and nephew. "Prince Rhaegar, Princess Arya, you're cutting it quite close." Nevertheless, she accepted each of their offered hugs. Besides her own daughter and son, she shared the closest bonds with the eldest of Jon and Daenerys' brood. "Don't tell me Edderon and Sansenya 'took' you on a roundabout flight again?" She chuckled at his own japing insinuation. Exactly like their parents, the twins could spend half the day on dragonback.

Arya rolled her eyes. "That was a misunderstanding, Aunt Sansa, and you know it," she said evenly, but with an edge of fiery irritation - just like her father, she was. "How were we supposed to know those monsters wanted to set up a clutch of eggs on the Dragonont rather than in the dragonpit as the others?" The prospect of another four eggs to join the eleven others had softened the blow of the then four-and-ten twins from a harsh punishment for disappearing for an entire day.

Nine-and-twenty, the Red Wolf of the North and Lady Hand was still one of the Realm's great beauties - but her blue eyes held lifetimes of shrewd experience. They trained themselves on her niece and nephew. "Are you sure it wasn't something else?" _They can't hide it from me._

At that Arya averted her gaze as Rhaegar rubbed the back of her head. "No…" Rhaegar replied. "We were simply sidetracked with our studies."

She laughed at the lame excuse. "Sure, sure," Sansa grinned, eyes twinkling as she picked up on the signs. _Just like their parents._ The same look when they were late to some family function after… a vigorous assignation. She wouldn't embarrass them further. "Come on, let's get inside." They and the two direwolves passed between the standing Unsullied guardsmen.

All eyes fell on Rhaegar and Arya as they stopped just inside the doorway - Lord Commander Grey Worm shutting the door behind them. The harshest stare came from the two figures at the front of the immense table. "Rhae, Arry…" Their mother, Empress Daenerys Targaryen, First of Her Name. Even in a shimmering gown of blue silk that highlighted her ethereal Valyrian beauty, she still managed to intimidate anyone she set her scowl on. "You're tardy."

"The meeting hasn't started…" Arya began to protest, only for a raised hand to cut her off.

Such a hand belonged to their father - Emperor Jaehaerys Targaryen, Third of His Name. "Nevertheless, as Crown Prince and Princess, you are to show up before all others. We're both disappointed."

Seeing his sister deflate, Rhaegar sighed. "Forgive us, _kepa… muna."_ Their eyes cast down at the floor.

When they looked up, both their parents were smiling softly - eyes radiating love for their firstborns. "We're glad you're here, now come, take your positions."

Passing by each of the assembled councilors and guest Lords, a discreet brush of their fingers found Arya leaving her brother, taking her placed adjacent to their father while Rhaegar took the same next to their mother. Across from each other. "Eddy, Sonar," Arya whispered, sit.

Eddy and Sonar nudged their owners with their snouts before resting on the floor - next to their father and mother. Nymeria licked both of their fur as she would a cub, while Ghost merely yawned. A wolf of few sounds from birth till now.

Jon nodded at his children. "Now, let's begin."

Normally about a dozen people given the expanded ministries that Daenerys and Jon put together in their significant reforms upon being crowned, the Tourney swelled it to over twenty, visiting Lords of significance from across the Realm allowed a seat. Arya knew that uncle Robb and aunt Margaery would both be here if not for still travelling from Winterfell. Even still, it was a sea of familiar and unfamiliar faces.

"Dear Gods, can't you get it through your thick skulls?" barked an irate Olenna Tyrell. She had to be nearing a century, but her mind was still sharp as a Valyrian Steel blade - each of the women in the Imperial family envied her here. "I am not putting yet another tax upon my subjects just so you can build roads to nowhere!"

"Lady Olenna," Sansa replied, once again attempting to put out a fire. "I understand your concern, but the roads… as well as the expansion of the secondary harbors at Astapor and Yunkai, are vital to the survival of New Valyria…"

A snort. "You think some farmboy along the Mander or one of those Dothraki bands breeding horses on my northern frontier give a damn about some lamb-fucker living halfway across the world?" Crabby as she was, the Queen of Thorns had a point.

These meetings were always the same - not once since Rhaegar had been inducted into the Small Council as was his right as the Crown Prince did they ever discuss anything above the mundane runnings of the Empire. Not that he hadn't had enough excitement in his life, a war hero of the Dawn, but he'd take some minor banditry or exploration over the boring shit these days. Looking across at Arya, he could tell his love was fighting a yawn as well.

Regardless, he decided to speak up. _"Kepa, muna."_ Formality hadn't extended as far as denying their familial ties in meetings. "Perhaps additional coin could be minted from the treasury reserve."

Arya caught on, eyes twinkling. "I believe there is enough in the vaults to create one hundred million gold dragons and two hundred million silver stags." The past decade had been good for the Empire.

Regarding her children with a searching gaze, Daenerys nodded. _I have a lot to be proud of them for._ They would make great rulers. "I believe that could solve the issue without necessitating a raise in tax monies. "Lord Aurane, can this be done?"

"Additional coin can be minted as we speak, your Grace," offered Master of Coin Aurane Velaryon, legitimized bastard brother of the Lord of Driftmark. "But the Banks of Braavos, Lys, and King's Landing ask me to caution against too much."

"Explain," Daenerys asked. It was clear she knew, but the look in her face told it was more for her children than herself or the Emperor.

It was the New Valyrian emissary to the Council that replied. "The more coin in circulation, the less it's worth," Yezzan zo Qaggaz explained. "We suffered from a spike in prices once the hoarded riches of the longtime masters was distributed among the freemen. Hurt many shopkeepers and freeborn."

Jon nodded. "You will limit the minting to one million gold dragons. That should be enough to cover the projected expenditures on both the renovations and road construction for Essos."

Both men bowed. "Understood, your Grace."

Glancing at the twins, Jon shared a nod with Dany and turned to the Mistress of Whisperers - one with the skills to even outshine the late Lord Varys in the role. "Lady Baratheon, can you inform the council and the Prince and Princess about why we need the roads constructed into Lazhar and towards Qarth?"

If Arya Baratheon had any anger at her brother/cousin for using her title, she didn't show it. This was a far more matured Arya than the terror known before the Dawn. "Aye, the following has been kept within the inner circle till now." She cleared her throat. "The Master of Diplomacy, Lord Davos, returned from a voyage to Qarth six months ago. There, the city was under tension due to a civil war that had begun within the Golden Empire of Yi Ti."

"Yi Ti?" This time it was Lord Edmure Tully that asked, not the twins. Apparently age and maturity hadn't improved his mind.

"A nation past the Jade Sea, uncle," Arya replied. "My little birds… though I have no network within the Golden Empire, state that the ruling dynasty was usurped by a new one that proceeded to invade and conquer Asshai, as well as secure vassal states of the tribes around the Empire's core… now, the expansion has been checked when the previous dynasty rose up in Rebellion." She sighed. "Fighting is said to be even more brutal than the Emperors' War."

Her namesake hissed. "Aunt, are you saying we need roads into Lazhar as a means of troop placement in case of war?"

Arya glanced at her husband Gendry. "After consulting with the Master of War, I recommend preventative defense. The Dothraki can protect their grass sea, but New Valyria will need to marshal double its forces."

"And this is precluding on the expansionist faction winning their civil war?" asked Lady Tyene Martell.

"Yes."

Lord Robin Arryn scoffed. "Where did you happen to get this information?" Beside him, Robar Royce grimaced - he succeeded his father's unenviable task in shepherding the haughty man-child of the Vale. No other would want to be in his shoes.

Staring her cousin down, Arya gave away nothing. "Through songs sung by those observing refugees of that conflict in Qarth."

"Doesn't seem reliable to me. I wouldn't want the traders of Gulltown to run out of wine or silk if New Valyria is producing more weapons."

"Do you disagree with the Mistress of Whisperers? Or the Master of War?" Rhaegar piped up.

Looking down his nose at Rhaegar, Robin rolled his eyes. "What authority do you have over me, whelp? Respect your elders."

"He gets the authority as my son," Daenerys cut in, the mighty Empress finally getting through to the arrogant Lord. "I suggest he is the one who deserves respect from you."

Cowering from Dany's stare, Robar interjected. "My apologies, your Grace." He cleared his throat. "I believe no one objects to the Lady Baratheon's request, so may I speak of another matter of importance?"

Sharing a glance with Jon, Daenerys nodded. "You may ask, Lord Royce."

But none of the Imperial family expected what was to come next. "The Princess and Crown Prince are of age. I believe it is time that serious consideration be given to the potential of betrothals for the sake of the Empire."

Rhaegar stiffened - Arya's eyes widened and face paled, while Jon and Daenerys simply glowered with narrow eyes. Before any of the Targs could respond, Sansa interjected for their own sake. "You are out of line, Lord Royce." In truth, she was as galled about it as the rest of the family. If anyone had experience with being sold for political purposes, it was Sansa Stark. Neither her niece nor nephew would suffer the same fate. "Only their Graces have the right to bring this up."

"Wait one moment, Lady Hand." The voice belonged to Baelor Hightower, Master of Ships and one of the richest lords in the Realm. "That is not the truth. All of us on the Small Council see that we must ensure the stability of the Empire - the ensuring of a distinct line of succession is mandated for every proper ruler."

Daenerys pursed her lips. "You will not sell our children to the highest bidder… no one will."

"No one is suggesting that, your Grace." Formerly a minor official within the Iron Bank, Noho Dimittis was one of the few in that institution to speak loyally about the Targaryens. Thus, he was rewarded with the title of First Sealord of Braavos. "But as distasteful as this may be, stability is what this Realm is prospering under and it must be continued. Young Rhaegar and Arya need to be mindful of their duty."

And so it was argued for hours, every possible maiden and young bachelor discussed for either. Proposals ranged far and wide, from vigorous Lords like Ned Umber or the committed womanizer Harrold Hardyng, to a variety of second sons or even older widowers such as Lord Baelor himself for the Princess. Matters for the Crown Prince were even more outlandish - the Hightowers swooped in with a significant line of granddaughters of Lord Baelor, of which he had eight. Tyene's sister Loreza was considered, as was Yisilla Royce, both six and thirteen years his senior. The widow Alys Karstark also came up, ten years his senior, but the one that obtained most discussion was an attempt to reach out to the dominant faction in the Yi Ti Civil War for a daughter of theirs. Head off any conflict.

All through the discussion, Rhaegar and Arya waited for their parents to dismiss these attempts. To announce to the council that the two of them loved each other and would be betrothed to one another. It wasn't as if their love was a secret. Both Jon and Daenerys knew, not seeming to have a problem with it.

But it never came. Only one sentence from Jon. "We will table this discussion until the Tourney is over. Dismissed." Daenerys added nothing.

For the twins, this was the most damning of silences. Two hearts shattered at that moment.

* * *

"So Rhaegar really has Blackfyre? The Blackfyre?!"

Purple eyes twinkling, Saera grinned as the wild dragonwolf she was. "Would I lie to you, dear cousin?" Nothing made the Princess happier than impressing her normally dour Stark cousin. She would soon be fostering in Winterfell, and if it didn't mean separating from her parents for a year or more, she'd completely look forward to it.

Had he not been concentrating on this amazing piece of information, Jon Stark - heir to Winterfell - would have looked forward to Saera's fostering as well. "Where was it after all these years?" His parents had just arrived at Summerhall, and as the adults conducted their boring conversations he managed to duck out and immediately find his favorite playmate.

Saera shrugged, the two of them racing through the airy hallways towards the Imperial Quarters. "Golden Company probably. Muna and Kepa likely kept it "Kepa presented it to him personally."

Young Jon's eyes grew wide, both jealous and amazed at the same time. "Gods… my cousin and your brother wielding the sword of Aegon the Conqueror, of Daeron the Young Dragon." Stark though he was, as his uncle the Emperor he grew up avidly reading the tales of the great Targaryen Kings. "He is so lucky."

"You think he's lucky?" She bit her lip. "Arya got Dark Sister."

"Shut it, really?!" The two ancestral swords of House Targaryen… back with their rightful owners. "But aren't they reserved for the rulers?"

They reached Rhaegar's room, always open to his baby sister whenever she wanted… unless there was a tiny scrap of red cloth on the latch - _gods, I'm not planning on walking on that ever again._ " _Muna_ and _Kepa_ both have their own swords… the ones they beat the Night King with. I suppose now Blackfyre and Dark Sister belong to the heirs."

"Lucky, lucky, lucky. I wonder if Rhaegar would let me hold it."

"Shouldn't be a problem to ask…" Throwing open the door, Saera stopped as soon as she saw a both confusing and saddening scene. "Brother? Arya?"

Seated upon the bed, his legs brushing the carpeted floor, Rhaegar held Arya in a close embrace. His fingers softly stroked at her clothed back while his sister-lover sobbed softly into his tunic. He eyed Saera - their similar Targaryen violet eyes conveying more than words ever could. Tugging Jon along, Saera raced to the bed. Joining the comforting hug of her crying sister. Arya noticed. "Saera?"

"What's wrong, Arry?"

There was a hopeless sorrow in her grey eyes. "Everything…"

* * *

Tail wagging as they passed by him, Ghost's tongue drooped from his mouth at Jon's pets. Preening from the fingers ruffling is fur. But as the white puffball was apt, he licked at Dany's hand as soon as it closed in at her. Making the Empress giggle. "Goodnight, Ghost. My furry love." He seemed to smile back at her.

"Traitor," Jun mumbled at his direwolf.

"Don't blame him that he loves me more," Daenerys giggled. "Besides, he's too adorable to get mad at."

Jon opened his mouth to retort, only for the aging direwolf to tilt his head to the side, gazing at him with puppy-dog eyes. "You're lucky you're my boy, Ghost." Another fur ruffle earned a lick for Jon, mollifying him. "Good boy, stand guard." But Ghost only yawned and spread out on the floor lazily - the Emperor shook his head, chuckling as he followed his wife into their chambers.

"Dear gods…" Daenerys breathed, reaching for the glittering necklace and removing it quickly. Sighing as the ruby and sapphire jewels fell from her neck for the first time that day. "What a day." Their second set of twins - the beautiful three nameday old Princesses Daena and Rhaenyra - were just as much a handful as their first set… or their Aunt Arya. Dragon and Wolfsblood was not an easy combination to deal with.

Jon was equally quick, this time shucking off his belt and tossing it on one of the massive dressers - careful not to damage Longclaw. "These damn councils and court sessions suck the life out of me more than the Long Night did." He kicked off his boots, sighing in relief as his sore feet finally hit air. "We're getting far too old."

Sitting at her commode, the Empress began to untie the braids in her still vibrant silver hair, glancing at her husband of eleven namedays with a roll of the eyes. "Speak for yourself, Jon." He had taken to being called Jaehaerys during the formalities of ruling the Targaryen Empire, but in private everyone called him by his Northern name - the name of the man she fell in love with all those years before in Pentos. "You may be old, but I am still young and in the prime of my life."

Walking over to her, Jon placed a kiss on the crook of Dany's neck - making her shudder. "Says the mighty dragonrider that needs a hot soak in the tub after each time she rides Balerion more than half-an-hour."

"That was once!" Dany shouted back, ire up. "And we travelled from King's Landing all the way to Sunspear that time." The Emperor merely cocked his head at her as he untied the laces to his leather gambeson. Blinking, Dany sighed. "Perhaps we are getting a little old." Not a wrinkle on her face, but the years of rule were starting to tucker her out more. "Seven Hells, Rhaegar and Arya are six and ten… it was just yesterday they were so little, begging for you to give them a dragonride around my solar in Dragonstone."

Chuckling at the memories, Jon smiled wistfully. "We were at war with Joffrey at the time, so I wouldn't want the specific time back." He dodged a pillow thrown at him.

"Oh shut it." But Daenerys giggled all the same. _Oh, my handsome japer of a husband._ Normally so brooding and serious, Jaehaerys Targaryen, Third of His Name was a whole different person around herself and their family. She felt honored. "I know we have Daena and Nyra to enjoy those years again, but they were our first, Jon. The proof of our love when no one knew."

Playing with the neckline of her dress, Jon sighed into her hair. Inhaling the scent of vanilla and lavender that so excited him. "Betrothal offers…"

Daenerys closed her eyes. "It was imprudent of our councilors to raise that… but…" With the luxuries and power in their crowns, it also entailed a duty. One that could often destroy happiness as dragonfire could a person. "They are of age. Rhaegar will need a bride and Arya a husband." Reaching up, she weaved their fingers together. "If only…"

"No." Jon nuzzled her neck, beard lightly tickling Dany's skin. "That's a decision they'll have to make themselves… if they truly think it's worth it. Otherwise, we'll have to make the decision for them."

"I can't bear to see them in the same pain my parents were in." The stories of what happened to Rhaella Targaryen at the hands of Aerys, truly, it often brought nightmares to Daenerys at the prospect of what she represented to her late mother. "Our children will wed for love as well as duty."

"The realm is at peace. The balance of power is held by us and our family - they can afford to make love the main factor…" He kissed her creamy neck. "As we did, ñuha jorrāelagon." Not hesitating, the kisses turned into licks and sucks, Jon lavishing his beautiful beloved with sensuous attention.

Daenerys moaned in approval. _"Ooooh… kessa…"_ Alone and without duties at that moment, she quickly found herself falling into the embrace of lust for her husband and lover. The only man for her… the only one she would ever love. Much to his displeasure, she quickly rose, turning to him - smiling as the protest died on his lips at the dark purple of her eyes. "I believe the time for talking has ended, Emperor."

It was as if Jon's mind turned to porridge as Daenerys unfastened the clasp and ties holding the dress up. Letting it fall to the ground in a pool of silk - revealing her completely body clad in nothing but wavy hair and a smile. "Uhhhhhhh…" was all he could choke out.

The Empress was proud of her looks, hair lustrous, eyes sparkling, legs shapely, and a taught stomach seemingly untouched by the six babes she had carried. But ever so, the way Jon gazed at her even after over a decade together made her feel the most beautiful woman in the world. "I take it you like," she added, leaning against the pole of their bed canopy. Cocking her hips to the side in a seductive pose.

"Oh yes," Jon murmured, blood rushing to his groin at the delectable sight. Feet carrying him till he stood only inches apart from the Valyrian goddess he called wife.

"Mmmm, my Emperor," she murmured, grasping the hem of his tunic and slipping it over his chest and shoulders - mouth watering as she marveled at the sculpted muscles that were bare to her. This man was almost unreal, so perfect in her eyes and by the grace of the gods he loved her. He was hers. Mine... "I believe…" Leaning forward, she kissed each of the scars dotting his chest. Loving ones turning filthy when she reached his pecs. Tonguing one of his nipples, a move which never ceased to draw a gasp from him. "You have one more duty to perform tonight, your Grace."

"Fuck…" Jon hissed as she pressed her naked body up against him, now kissing and nipping at his neck. "And what would that be?"

"A very important duty," she whispered in his ear, licking the shell. "Pleasing your Empress… I command it." Daenerys bit his earlobe, nibbling on it as her hand pushed down his trousers enough to wrap a delicate hand around his manhood.

And at that moment, the dragonwolf roaring and howling within Jon took command. Lust overtaking him, Jon growled and lifted her in his arms - Daenerys yelping as her legs wrapped instinctively around his hip. Her eyes gazing hungrily at how his trousers slipped to the floor, leaving him as bare as her. "How can you do this to me, Daenerys?" he husked from deep in his throat, crashing their lips together. Pinning Dany against the wall.

"Oh gods," she moaned, a flood of wetness soaking her cunt. The kiss turned savage, bodies flush together. "I can't wait, Jon." His masculine scent, dominating tongue, feel of her sensitive peaks scraping on his chest… it was too much. "Bed! Take me now!" But Jon refused to budge, teeth scraping down her neck as he dipped his head - hauling her further up his body, smearing her wetness on his stomach. Lips latching to a breast and sucking desperately. "Jon… bed… please…" Her voice caught, lost in the sparks of pleasure.

"No," was his only reply, devouring her breasts.

Dany blinked. "What…"

"Too far. Need you now." Still marking her pale breasts, Jon angled himself with supreme skill and pierced through her soaking lips. Spearing into her cunt.

Her mouth dropped in a wordless scream, head falling back against the wall. _Oh gods… kessa… right there!_ The Empress fisted her hand in his curly hair, pulling it out of its bun as she gasped in pleasure. Another hand clawed into the muscles of his back and shoulder, begging him to continue. The thrusts filling her up so perfectly nearly made Daenerys shatter right there. It wasn't going to take long for her Emperor.

Assaulting her nipple, it grounded him as the pressure built in his cock. Overheating within the depths of his wife's walls - just as tight and wet as when she was a maiden deflowered. Since their illicit couplings in Winterfell. He pummelled her, wanting her to bounce as he speared her. _"Mine… mine… mine…"_

"Uhhhhmmm… yours..." she purred, rocking against his length. "I... love... you... Jon..." Dany moaned as she rolled her hips. Begging for him deeper. Lips quivering as he hit just the right spot inside her. "Ahhhhhhh…" She undulated her velvet heat around him, lost in her peak.

Leaving her now swollen breasts, Daenerys trembling in his arms, Jon dug his hands into her shapely rear and guided her to the bed. Hissing as he dropped her on the bed, still pulsing cock slipping free. They stared at each other, Jon licking his lips - Dany bit hers, rubbing her legs together. Her body was covered in a sheen of sweat, flush with a still burning desire. His love… his sin… his duty… "Get on all fours."

She shivered in delight. "Does my Jon want to take me like a wolf?"

His eyes darkened further. "My turn to command, _Daenerys…"_

At the lust in his voice, Dany had no choice but to comply. Seconds passed till she was in position - tossing her hair to the side, she cast a look back at Jon. Wiggling her ass and daring him to claim her… "Ooooh… Jon…" Daenerys' head fell onto the soft furs. Purring at Jon's tongue sliding up and down her slit. "Don't stop."

He just had to taste her. Puffy folds glistening with her arousal, Dany's cunt tasted perfect as always. Jon didn't understand why any past Targaryen would ever stray from the beds of their blood lovers - hells, why anyone would stray from any Valyrian maiden? Tongue mimicking the thrusts of earlier, he wriggled it in her pussy, enjoying how she screamed and writhed from his motions.

"I need… I need more, Jon!" All composure had left Dany - she was nothing but a woman lost in passion. "Fuck me! Fuck me like a whore!" Daenerys reached back to pull at his hair. "Fuck your dragon whore!"

How could he resist? Swiping one last lick from clit to opening, Jon grabbed his length and bottomed out deep inside her. Sheathing himself completely. "Fuck…" Only his tip had gotten inside before she clamped down like a vice.

"AAAAHHH!" Daenerys screamed, losing control when he began his thrusts. Jon was so deep, kissing her womb as he did every night, their passion having waned none as their marriage lengthened. _My dragonwolf…_ He dug his fingers into her hips, punishing her with his thrusts and she loved it.

Everything seemed to blend together, the two fucking for what seemed like hours. Filling their chambers at Summerhall with the sounds of their passion. Jon reached up to grab her silver locks. Making Daenerys scream when he thrust just as he pulled her hair back. Mixing a delicious amount of pain and pleasure together - fucking her with abandon.

 _"Gūrogon nyke…"_ she gasped in Valyrian. " _Gūrogon nyke... Gūrogon nyke…"_ Dany screamed when dragonfire erupted in her core. _"Gūrogon aōha zaldrīzes!"_

"Daenerys!" He lost himself at her walls contracting, desperate to milk him dry.

Daenerys writhed beneath him, toes curling and mouth open in a silent scream as rope after rope of Jon's seed spurted into her womb. Quenching the burning lust within. _Give me another child… another little dragon to love and to hold…_ The plea only drew out her climax, shattering around his still twitching cock as they shook in ecstasy.

Sluggishly moving together onto the bed, Dany mewled in contentment as her husband drew the furs atop them, snuggling back into his front. Jon wrapped an arm tight around her stomach, ensuring she was flush against his front. "I love you, Daenerys."

Eyes closed, Dany smiled in pure happiness at his words. "I love you too, Jon."

"And I love your Essosi dresses."

"Of course you do, my degenerate Emperor." She was one to talk - Dany not shy about how she hungered for her husband when he donned his Valyrian battle armor. "I hope the twins can find what we have."

He kissed the back of her neck. "I hope so too, my dragon." Not long after, both drifted off into their slumber.


	2. Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Memorial Day to all my American readers, and I am heartened by the reception this got :D
> 
> Enjoy and review :D

_Light filled the great Throne Room of the Red Keep. Newly reconstructed into a massive hall of windows, light marble and limestone columns, and statues of Targaryen Kings ancient and recent, it truly was the masterpiece of the new dawn of the Targaryen Empire - ready to welcome whomever their Graces chose to honor that particular day._

_Clad in matching sets of Valyrian steel armor, each so finely forged as to look like dragonscales shimmering in the sun, that day the chosen were Rhaegar and Arya Targaryen. They proceeded slowly between the two throngs of courtiers on either side. Gazing at them in awe and appreciation… especially from the opposite sex. Each a perfect mix of First Man and Valyrian features, literal gods to most citizens of the Empire._

_But those who knew them understood that their eyes were only for each other… it took every bit of fortitude the twins held not to link hands as they nervously walked towards the two thrones. Ground their apprehension with each other. For this was the highest recognition they had ever received, and apparently the entire nobility of the Realm that could come did come._

_At the raised dais, the smiles of their family calmed their racing hearts. Their aunts Sansa and Arya, beaming uncharacteristically wide smiles. Their younger sister and brother, bored but happy for them. Aunt Missandei also smiling, not of their blood but family in spirit. The entire Kingsguard, protective watchers that were almost like brothers, uncles, and a sister to the Prince and Princess._

_And lastly Jon and Daenerys upon their thrones - the greatest pair Westeros had ever known… and the most loving parents the twins could ever hope for. Without hesitation, they knelt - neither drew swords, because for some reason Aunt Sansa told them to come with empty scabbards._

_Smiling, Daenerys rose. Gesturing to the crowd. "People of the Empire, we come here today to recognize the victories of their Crown Prince and Princess." Her voice was that of a goddess, firm yet kind. "Together, they embarked four moons ago with a force of five hundred elite guardsmen and bloodriders, and just one week ago returned having vanquished the Second Kingswood brotherhood that had been plaguing our roads and keeps. Never since the War for the Dawn have I seen two fight so valiantly, and for that they deserve our undying gratitude."_

_Applause echoing through the hall, Arya and Rhaegar couldn't help but preen at the attention. Rising straight, looking out at the cheering highborns. All stopped when their father rose from his throne._

_Taking something from Ser Jorah, resting atop a velvet pillow and covered in a cover of red silk, the Emperor stepped down from the Dragonwolf Throne. His eyes gleamed with proud tears at his beloved daughter. Looking every inch the mighty dragonlord as her mother, but with the eyes and height he remembered Lyanna Targaryen to be. "Princess Arya of House Targaryen," he announced to the assembled of court in the Throne Room. "You have proven your worth on the field of battle time and time again. A master dragonrider and accomplished fighter, but in this campaign you used your intellect and cunning to root out your enemy before a blade was ever drawn. In this, you've proved to me that you are not just my daughter and the blood of the dragon, but a great warrior Princess in your own right."_

_Arya, overwhelmed by the words her father was telling her, wanted to throw her arms around the man that gave her life with a flood of happy tears. Instead she stood straight, eyes glistening as she beamed nonetheless. "It was my honor to fight for you, Kepa."_

_Jon matched her smile… much as they said Arya looked like Daenerys, that smile was all Stark. "It is my honor to have you as a daughter." Seeming to lift her further into the clouds of joy, Jon reached out to fist the silk. "Therefore, it is my right as the joint head of House Targaryen to bequeath you this."_

_As he removed the silk cloth, Arya gasped in instant recognition. How could one not? The rippled blade of Valyrian Steel, twisted hilt, simple gold pommel tipped with a magnificent ruby said to be the most beautiful in all the realms of the world. Hands shaking, the young woman took it in her hands. "Dark Sister?" It felt right in her hands. "Where did…"_

_"Lady Munda," her father replied. "She wished to chart all her lands by herself. Stumbled upon it the True North. The sword of the great Visenya Targaryen… and now yours, Arya."_

_Her eyes widened, overwhelmed. "No, kepa… it's the blade of a great Queen, muna…"_

_It was Daenerys that spoke up. "My darling daughter… it is yours to hold and to weild." She beamed just as much as Jon. "Bring our House great victories with that blade."_

_Realizing just know why their scabbards were empty - palms sweating at what his gift would likely be - Rhaegar watched as his trembling sister slowly bent the knee to their parents. The tip of Dark Sister clinking on the stone. "I so swear my fealty to Jaehaerys and Daenerys Targaryen, and to House Targaryen and the Empire. For my arm to strike true and my blade to never meet innocent flesh."_

_"Rise, Princess Arya." As she did, Jon leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. "I love you, Arry."_

_She smiled widely at him. "I love you too, father." Jon heading back to his throne, Arya glanced surreptitiously at her handsome brother. His gaze filled with love, pride… and just a hint of lust. It made her shiver with delight._

_Thoughts of each other were shelved as their mother proceeded down the steps from the Iron Throne, sharing a loving kiss with her husband while balancing the draped gift in her hands. A heartwarming sight - monarchs ignoring propriety to openly show their affections. Approaching Rhaegar, her son towering a head over her, she nevertheless radiated power… and love for her eldest. "Crown Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen," the Empress began, voice firm and decisive. "In the last campaign you have proven yourself as the greatest of warriors. Ruthlessly and smartly pursuing and destroying all of the bandits wherever they stood, proceeding in a manner that never let them rest and yet protected as many of your command as you could." Her eyes glistened with warmth, almost the same look she gave his father - minus the obvious. "I cannot ask for a better heir to my legacy."_

_Normally tall and proud, Rhaegar found himself almost blushing at the praise. "Muna…" he murmured self-deprecatingly, slightly humbled in front of what had to be half the nobles in the Empire._

_Normally Daenerys and Jon fostered modesty in their children not letting the power of the dragonlords go to their heads. But now, Dany shook her head. "You deserve this, my son." She took off the silk cover, revealing his gift in all its glory. "The Targaryen Kings of old carried this into battle, and you shall follow in their footsteps someday."_

_If there was anything more notorious and identifiable than Dark Sister, it was the blade that Rhaegar picked up in that moment. In awe of what was in his hands, marvelling at the dragon head cross guards and dark, smokey blade. "Where did you find Blackfyre, muna?" It felt so surreal to hold the sword of the dragon kings._

_"The Golden Company held it, giving it to us. We have our swords, and there is no one more worthy of wielding it than you, my son." Dany stood up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "I love you."_

_Rhaegar knelt just as his sister. As much a knight of the realm as any other, his raven hair pulled up in a warriors bun as his father did. "I so swear my fealty to Jaehaerys and Daenerys Targaryen, and to House Targaryen and the Empire. For my arm to strike true and my blade to do justice for my people."_

_"All hail Prince Rhaegar and Princess Arya!" a herald boomed._

_"Long may they Reign!" shouted the courtiers, both Jon and Daenerys smiling down on them from their thrones..._

* * *

"Rhaegar, wait!" It had been a day since discovering her sister crying in her brother's arms, and since then Saera could only get two words out of Arya. The Crown Prince was a tougher nut to crack… not that she hadn't inherited both a dragon and direwolf's stubbornness to break it apart. "You're not going to get rid of me."

The Crown Prince didn't look back, carrying the doe carcass on his back like it weighed the same as a rat. "Leave me alone, Saera."

She wasn't going to drop it. "Arry loves you and the council is set to marry you to other people - you have to deal with this!"

"That's my own concern." With a grunt, Rhaegar dumped the carcass in the middle of the field. Before anyone could blink, Sansenya charged at the deer and scorched it. Enjoying her meal. Rhaegar watched with a blank look - the proud, confident knight and Prince that accepted Blackfyre before the entire court was nowhere to be found.

Hands on her hips, Saera looked exactly like one would think Lyanna Stark would, though the scowl on her face was all their mother's. "You can't sulk like a coward all day, brother!" Just seeing the mighty Crown Prince turn into a whiny little weakling was annoying her. "You fought in the Long Night for gods sake… Jon!" Gods, what was it about the boys in her life that was stoking her ire. "Stop being a puss and get over here!"

Saera's Stark cousin waited at least fifty feet away from them, shuffling his feet. "Must I?" he shouted. "I'm safer here."

Rolling her eyes, Saera trotted over the distance and grabbed Jon's hand. Drawing the attention of the dragons as she yanked him forward. "The dragons aren't gonna eat you, seven hells. What is it with the owner of a direwolf being such a weakling?"

"Well I'm a Stark, direwolves are supposed to like me. Dragons on the other hand… stop pulling me!" he yelled, finding it demeaning.

"I'll stop pulling when you stop being a simp," Saera countered, not letting go.

Groaning, Jon's eyes frittered to the dragons. All staring at him with their amber eyes. "I think they want to eat me."

This time Saera did stop… only to punch him in the shoulder. "They're not going to eat you, stupid." She may have developed not so friendly feelings for her cousin, but he could really be a northern fool sometimes. "The last time any one of them ate anybody was when Edderon devoured the Vicious Idiot."

"I could be the first since…"

"No you're not! They're very kind to me." She pointed at the largest one, Balerion the Black Dread Reborn. He seemed to tilt his head, peering at her. "See."

Jon blinked. "You have the blood of the dragon. Of course they don't touch you cause of your Valyrian scent. Me, I probably smell like a pre-dinner snack…" Suddenly a huff of hot air caused him to jump, turning just as Rhaegal growled into Jon's face. The heir to Winterfell yelped and tried to run… only to trip and fall on his ass.

Rearing back from where he had quietly stretched his neck out, Rhaegal hooted to the other dragons, almost as if in laughter. The tilt of his head looked almost like amusement. No one that dealt with them daily could deny their intelligence. Rhaegal seemed to preen in satisfaction at the answering hoots from his brothers and sisters until he sight of little Saera glaring at him broke the silence. "Rhaegal! Not funny!" She helped pick Jon up, the poor lad shaking. "Wait till I tell kepa about this!"

Mood falling, Rhaegal let out a low rumble from his maw just as a thick tail smacked onto his back. _'Must you be an idiot?'_ Lyannarys ambled beside him, eyes simmering. _'Scaring my rider's mate?'_

Rhaegal growled. _'Our sister is too young to mate.'_

 _'You know it's happening one of these days, now make it right.'_ Exhaling a gust of air, Rhaegal nevertheless obeyed his own mate and angled his head downward. Offering his snout and gently nudging Saera's side the way he used to do for his mother when he was a naughty hatchling.

Anger leaving her, Saera rubbed Rhaegal's snout. The Targ brood were close with all the dragons, all one big family. "Apology accepted." She turned to Jon. "Come on, touch him."

Jon eyed the dragon warily. "You sure it's safe?"

Twin snorts left both Saera and Rhaegal. "He won't bite. Come." She grabbed his hand again and pulled it forward until her cousin's palm touched the smooth scales. "See."

"He's so warm," Jon said with awe.

_'Just like his father, your mate is.'_

Eyes flying wide open, Saera gaped at her _kepa's_ dragon. "What?! No!"

 _'It seems inevitable that you will mate with him and rule his nest,'_ stated her own mount, peering down at her. Saera could only sputter like an idiot, unable to say anything to that.

It was her older brother that answered for her. "Lay off my little sister," he laughed, hefting her up as if she was little. "Wait till she's five and ten until we tease about her being the future Lady of Winterfell."

"Wait, future what?!" Now it was Jon's turn to blush a bright red.

"Must you humiliate me?" Saera glared, but buried her face in his tunic nonetheless.

Rhaegar kissed her forehead. "Don't worry, I'm only japing," he chuckled. "You're right by the way."

"About what?"

"About Arry." She looked up at him, suddenly smiling. "I think I have just the thing, but I need you and Jon's help… you in, Jon?"

The poor northerner looked completely frazzled. "But mother said it would be three years before betrothals happened!"

* * *

"Go Arya!" shouted Prince Benjen Targaryen, his violet eyes alight with glee as he watched his eldest sister lash out powerfully with Dark Sister.

Sweat soaking her headscarf, Elia Sand leapt back - narrowly avoiding the glinting Valyrian blade. "Good form, your Grace," she teased, twirling her steel spear high and parrying the following strikes. Arya was no longer the small Princess trained by her and the Lady Arya in water dancing and Dornish swordsplay… she was a master in her own right, and Elia liked to goad her with such.

Arya did not take the bait. Her lips pressed into a thin, determined line. "Shut it." With a skill that would make the Not-Lady of Storm's End proud, Arya twirled the sword of Visenya Targaryen in her wrist and feinted to the left… instead striking right and battering the spear hard.

Elia fell back again - this time almost losing her footing. A quick twirl saved her stance, but her swipe at Arya was easily beaten back, exposing her middle to a perfect pommeling that would have left any actual enemy skewered through the heart. "I suppose I should thank her Grace for her mercy," she mused, panting.

Tip barely a quarter of an inch from the olive-skinned Dirnish beauty, Arya drew back. Sheathing Dark Sister. "Not my fault you like living dangerously, Elia." She chuckled. "If I can defeat you then those smug tourney knights won't stand a chance in the melee."

"You're gonna beat em' all, Arry!" Benjen whooped, racing in to hug his big sister. A hug to which Arya returned with a smile. Annoying as the perfect Valyrian prince was - ironic, considering his northern name while the Valyrian-named Saera looked like a northerner - in truth he adored Arya and she him. After all, she had taken personal charge of his swordplay training. "I can't believe you're gonna enter the melee tomorrow."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Dunno… just that you've never thought about it before."

"He's right, Arya." Elia placed a hand on her shoulder. "Does this more have to do with the fact that many of your potential suitors are also fighting in the melee?"

Shaking off the hand, Arya brushed back a strand of matted silver hair from her forehead. "That's…" Thinking better of it, she sighed. "Might as well have them see what they're dealing with. Could scare them off."

"You're not scary to me, Arry." Benjen looked up at her with a bright smile.

Arya laughed, ruffling his hair. Straight and impeccably silver, much as what was said about their grandfather Rhaegar Targaryen. "To you, perhaps. Others… I can be quite intimidating."

"That may only be because of Edderon, my Princess."

His voice causing a smile to form on her lips almost automatically, Arya turned only to be pulled into a crushing hug by a pair of strong arms. "Rhaegar…"

He grinned against her neck. "The one and only." Pulling back, he gave her his very own smile. "Training hard?"

"Aye." Arya bit her lip. "You should have joined."

"I had… things to do with Saera and Jon." They watched as their sister hugged Benjen - platonically from the looks of things, since it was also obvious that she only had eyes for their cousin. Speaking of him, Jon punched Benjen in the arm. A friendly hit, but hard. Benjen responded with another punch, and before any knew it the two best friends were rolling around on the ground, wrestling.

Saera rolled her eyes, looking up at Arya. "Boys."

Laughing at her brother and cousin's antics, she bit her lip as Rhaegar's hot breath tickled her ear. "I know you like to wrestle me… in the nude." She closed her eyes, enjoying that particular memory - he had almost crossed to claiming her maidenhead that day. "Come with me. Let's go on a dragonride."

Was there any chance she could say no to that? "Lead the way."

* * *

"The North seems to agree with you, Margaery," observed the Empress, hands folded atop her smooth white dress. Gone were the frilled sleeves and bulbous folds of the old styles prior to the Targaryen Restoration. Modest versions of the Meereenese style were the fashion of the future - following the trends of their Empress.

Walking beside her goodsister, hand looped in the crook of her husband's arm, Lady Margaery Stark looked radiant. "Thank you, Daenerys," she replied with the informality of close friendship. "I thought it was a dreary snowshroud when I saw it first, but the place grows on you… as does its people." Without delay she leaned up and kissed Robb's jaw. He was just as handsome as when she first seduced him. "Although the little wolf has something to do with it, I think." Margaery rubbed her stomach over the northern wool, hiding a faint swell.

Jon snorted. "What is it Robb, your fifth?" he japed.

Robb shot a cross look. "Fourth, brother, and you have six. Don't begrudge me." Young Jon, Melissa, and Eddard all joined them in Summerhall to the delight of Saera, Benjen, and the younger twins - the aging Lady Catelyn taking the place as the Stark of Winterfell.

"Ah," the Emperor sighed. "The perils of having a beautiful wife."

"We really are unlucky that way." It took only a moment of hidden snickers before two delicate hands swatted their chests.

"You love us and our beauty," the Rose of Winterfell chided, swatting his shoulder again before smirking with her husband. Oh, she wouldn't trade these times for the world. "In any case, I do enjoy being in some fathomable winter weather, and the dresses of the south call to me." _Robb certainly doesn't complain._ They were much easier to strip off of her.

Dany wrinkled her nose. "What shocks me is that Rickon actually came south for one of these… he and Lyanna never leave Bear Island… except for the twins last nameday celebration of course." There was no way any of their family would miss that. Jon even had to ferry Robb on Rhaegal for a single day so that only two days would pass without a Stark in Winterfell. Everyone loved Arya and Rhaegar… the Cherished as they were called by many. "He really means to fight in the joust?"

Chuckling, Robb shrugged his shoulders. "Apparently Lord Robin said something about no proper tourneys in the North and that was why the Andals were superior to the First Men… granted, a broken arm when one of his horses threw him off - not at all due to a stone hitting its rump…" It was obvious no one believed that. "Was a decent punishment for that, but our brother's been training for an entire year to defeat all challengers and show our cousin up."

"Robin's a little cunt," cursed Dany, shaking her head. _It's not like the other Lords of the Vale are any different…_ From the way Margaery raised an eyebrow, she had said her thought out loud. No one else heard, though… just her goodsister.

"Your Graces." Up trotted the scarred visage of Lord Commander Sandor Clegane - Jaecarys Velaryon right behind him. "Seems we need ya' in the training yard."

"What? Whatever for?" Jon asked.

The Hound spat. "Lord Crakehall and Lady Martell are in a spat over the tourney rules and from the looks of their bannermen they're fuckin' eager to have a second go at Tywin's March to Sunspear."

Jon faceplanted, inhaling deeply. "They're worse than children… fine." He motioned to his brother. "Robb, let's fix this."

"Going into the fires of hells again," the Lord of Winterfell laughed.

"Allow me…" Dany was cut off when Jon placed his hands on her waist, sighing when he kissed her eyelid.

"Don't bother yourself with this drek, my love. Enjoy your day, I'll handle it." A kiss on the lips and then he was off Robb alongside him with their hands on the hilts of their swords.

Sharing a look with Margaery, Dany saw the pregnant Lady of Winterfell start to tire and motioned to a collection of chairs. "Let's have a seat." Margaery nodded, releasing an exhale when she managed to sink into the plush patio seats, resting her back. "You heard what I whispered about the Vale." It wasn't a question.

Margaery looked at her intently. "While I know Lord Robin is an irritation and Ser Harry likes to bed anything with a skirt, that's all in the common knowledge. What did they say to irritate you thusly?"

"Wasn't Robin or Harry for once, it was Lord Royce."

"Robar?' Now this was surprising. "He's an honorable man."

Dany nodded. "Normally yes, but this time he brought up… betrothals for Arya and Rhaegar."

Eyes widening, Margaery understood immediately. "Oh…" That was a touchy subject among the Imperial family. She, Sansa, and Dany all had experiences with forced betrothals, while Arya rebelled largely due to wishing to avoid one - a forced betrothal complicating the love of Jon's parents had caused all of the Usurper's Rebellion, now catalogued in the proper histories for the perfidy and lie it was. "I'm sorry."

"It's less upsetting than galling." Dany clenched her fists, inhaling deeply to calm her inner dragon. "These idiots have had nearly a decade of prosperity and peace and yet they're still squabbling over my children as if they are some prize to be won. They are not prizes, they are my babes." There was the Mother of Dragons in all her glory, violet eyes ablaze. "They love only each other and I will not tolerate another betrothal."

"My grandmother always used to say she never understood Targaryens… I've been around you and Jon for years and I still don't." Margaery idly drummed the table, waiting for Dany to calm down. "But I know love when I see it. You love Jon, and my niece and nephew love each other - such is clear. So why don't you betroth them?"

Daenerys felt her anger deflate at the question, one of the few things to poke through her fearsome dragonscale. "You should have seen them, Marg… They are going to be great royals, but I can read them. Inside, they were hurting and scared." Sadness and grief filled her eyes. "They love each other as Jon and I do, and even the thought they could be apart and in loveless marriages is tearing them up inside."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"The same question Arya asked me, and Sansa. Seven Hells, even Ser Davos, and ultimately I told them nothing… truth be told Jon and I have spoken about it." The beauty of the Reach merely listened quietly. "He wants them together as much as I do, but we want to see just how much they truly want it. If this isn't an easy way out with someone they've always known."

Margaery rolled her eyes. "Those two fought the dead together. From what I remember, they were holding each other close just as the dead were vanquished. This is real."

Leaning back, Dany closed her eyes. "If we're all right, then they'll fight for their love." Hopefully the Small Council meeting the day before was just the incentive for them to do so.

* * *

"This is perfect," Arya murmured, head resting on her brother's chest.

"No, you are." Rhaegar was rewarded when Arya looked up at him, eyes sparkling with love and affection. It was the most beautiful sight in the world - even more than the breathtaking view of the Dornish sea, setting sun casting an orange-gold hue over the coastline as they sat upon the grassy mountainside overlooking it. "It's true."

She chuckled. "I suppose that's what all smart men say to their ladies." Arya snuggled into him nevertheless.

Idly looking back to where Sansenya and Edderon rested on the ground, wings folded and necks stretched out lazily, Rhaegar wouldn't let these quiet moments go for the world. "That's right, you're my lady… future Queen, rather."

Saying nothing, her gaze of love and desire said it all. Arya pulled him down, kissing him deeply. "I love you, Rhaegar… only you."

Returning the kiss, Rhaegar's mind went to a dark place. To the rumors he ordered Elia and Sam to divulge to him… that of many young beauties arriving to tempt the Crown Prince. Of strapping knights journeying to Summerhall to win the Princess' favor. The thought made his blood boil - Arya was his and his only.

The kisses grew desperate, hungry. Tongues plundering each other's mouths as Rhaegar pulled Arya to him. Bodies melded together as if leaving even the slightest distance brought the most unbelievable pain. Nothing was on their minds but the other - each desiring only their twin, their closest companion since they both shared their mother's womb. Rhaegar and Arya had faced the legions of the dead together, battled the Night King together, held each other in their arms both in the terror of impending death and in the celebration of an arrived victory. Nothing could shake their bond.

_Nothing and no one._

Moaning like a wanton whore, Arya slowly pushed her twin brother onto his back, both hands going to his dark curls. Gods, she loved him. Lusted for him. Every little feature about him from the northern locks to the chiseled chest to the Valyrian violet of his eyes. She begged for all the pleasure he could give and was frantic to grant him the same.

Rhaegar could feel his sister's soft hands shimmy into his trousers - going for the erect cock nestled within. "Arry…" he murmured, air finally making her break off their intense kiss. "Arry…"

"Mmmm-hmm…" She was too busy laving his neck with licks, kisses, and nips to answer further. Clearly desirous of finally ending all boundaries between them.

He knows he will hate himself later for this, but honor was often like that. "Please, Arry." With not small effort, he pushed her just enough to break their kiss. Watching her eyes change from lustful to hurt. _I do hate myself._ "We can't."

"Yes we can." She surges to kiss him again, but he stops her. "Rhaegar… stop it. I want you…" But his look is determined - it felt as if he had struck her. "Do you not want me?" Her voice, normally fierce, sounded haunted. Sad.

"Oh Arry…" Rhaegar held her tightly, rubbing her back. "Of course I do, but it shouldn't be like this."

"Then when?" she choked out.

Rhaegar was firm in his response. "On our wedding night." He made to look into her eyes. The beautiful grey pools that revealed the wolf underneath the dragon. "It will happen, I promise you."

Tears glossing her eyes, she brought their lips together in a slow, languid melding of mouths. Not trusting herself not to tell him that she had already resigned herself to never having him again. To a lifetime of pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Arya... little does she know what her brother plans.
> 
> The dragon scene was too funny not to write. The story is a lighthearted one :D
> 
> Next time, the Tourney begins, and we see more familiar faces.


	3. Dawn Tourney

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Hope you're having a good and safe week. Pray for the US and that the riots/looting stop.
> 
> This chapter is a big one, and a shoutout to WhiteWolf04 who has a birthday tomorrow :D
> 
> Enjoy and review :D

The tranquility of the cloudless night in the Stormlands was broken as Emperor Jon Targaryen bolted awake. Bare torso jerking upright as he panted heavily. Bathed in a light winter's chill as the hearth had died out, Jon nevertheless was covered in a sheen of sweat - curly black hair melding to his face.

_That nightmare… that fuckin' nightmare…_

Heart beating out of his chest, Jon frantically searched around blindly in the dark until he found his wife curled up against the pillow. Somehow disentangling her nude form from his in the middle of the night - likely to escape his undoubted thrashing. "Dany…"

Normally the Emperor would merely watch her until he fell back to sleep, marvelling at how beautiful she looked in the moonlight. But now, the aftereffects of the dream still pounding him like his goodbrother's warhammer, Jon brusqeuly grabbed Dany, pulling her to her back and tossing the furs off her. Such would have woken up Balerion. "Jon!" she screeched as she was abruptly woken. "What are…"

He didn't hear her, immediately finding the mark on her chest and gasping. _No… it is real… it was… I killed..._ A strangled sob left Jon's lips, one that made Daenerys' heart clench in terror and grief… until he realized the wound was nowhere near the shape of a simple dagger. Instead wider, longer... the scar of the sliver of dragonglass the Night King embedded inside her.

Not the wound of his fatal stab… the one from the nightmares.

"Jon?" Dany's voice was calm now, reaching out to cup her husband's cheek. "What's wrong? Why are you so sad?" What followed next broke her heart, the man she adored simply falling apart and collapsing into her embrace. Face buried into the crook of her neck in a torrent of sobs. "Oh gods, my love." Her own eyes scrunched tight as she held him close, hands ghosting over his back in a gentle soothing.

Fingers running along the valley between her breasts, Jon relished the warmth. The thumping of her heart. The life. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry, Dany."

Dany placed a kiss on her husband's temple. "It's alright, my love." Waiting till the sobs ceased, she pulled back. Cupping his cheek and looking in his eyes. "That nightmare, again?" Daenerys knew of it but Jon had never been this affected.

He nodded. "The same. Us in a loving embrace… the dagger… your look as I… I…" Before Jon could collapse into sorrow once more she surged forward. Lips melding against his. Letting her love for him banish away such pain.

"That will never and would never happen." Daenerys had problems with such nightmares before - a terrifying painting of an alternate reality both logically incomprehensible and yet all too real in her mind. And now Jon's. "You know we would never betray each other, my love?"

"Aye… I would harm myself before I harmed you, Dany." His eyes glistened. "You and our children mean everything to me."

"We know that. You have to know that we know that."

Sighing, Jon guided them back to the pillows, letting Dany settle into his side with her head on his chest. "I worry that Rhaegar and Arya hate us." In the moonlight, her violet eyes shined even more beautiful than in the day. "They love each other… who are we to deny them what we have?"

Daenerys gently kissed his chest. One of the many scars gained in battle defending their family. "You know why we are waiting to betroth them."

"They don't see it the way we do, love."

"We need to be sure, Jon. They need to be doing this out of actual love rather than mere ease." She held him tight. "They've convinced you and I, but they need to convince everyone else. To show they are dragons."

Silent for a moment, Jon nuzzled Dany's hair. "The duty that must come from love - being a monarch is poison for affection."

She turned to him, Dany swinging her legs to straddle her naked husband. "If Rhaegar is anything like his handsome, loving father, he'll find a way to make it work." Dany leaned in to kiss his lips, their worries fading away with lust taking its place. "You're an amazing father, a great King, and the sexiest husband a girl could ever want."

The kiss deepened, hunger bubbling up. "Dany…"

"You would never betray us. I trust you with my life, for you deserve it." Easing herself down upon his length, Dany sighed happily. Eyes closed and smile satisfied. "Mmmm… my King." All worries evaporated in the face of their shared passion.

* * *

"Owww… fuck…"

 _"Hold still, your Grace,"_ chided Alarra Nudho, fingers dancing about the Princesses hair. _"From what mother tells me, you did not pick this up from your mother. I think you are just like your namesake."_

 _"Shut it,"_ Arya shot back in High Valyrian just as Alarra spoke. Her aunt was repulsed by everything ladylike… except in the bedroom, which she and Rhaegar discovered to their horror last moon in Storm's End. While the outer walls could keep out the worst storms, Durran Godsgrief apparently ran out of material to thicken the inner walls.

Another attempt to smooth out the tangles caused yet another cry and curse. _"Gods, must you be so difficult?"_ The young northern maiden and adoptive child of Missandei and Grey Worm was already a language prodigy, albeit only half of her mother's vocabulary so far. As a result, she was Arya's language coach and the two only spoke Valyrian when alone together. _"I'll never fix your braids up this way."_

 _"I don't need fucking braids,"_ Arya shot back.

"I agree with the Princess, here." Leaning against the wall, Elia Sand understood High Valyrian but chose not to speak it, preferring the Common Tongue. "One little jerk of my hand and your hair won't be a problem anymore." She drew her dagger, toying with it in her hands.

Arya's expression changed from irritation to horror. _"No no… braids are fine… maybe a simpler northern style?"_ There were places the Princess wouldn't follow her namesake. While the Lady Arya Baratheon still sported a scandalous bob cut never tied back, Princess Arya Targaryen loved her silver hair and wearing dresses and breeches that complimented it.

 _"Of course, your Grace."_ Alarra shared a smirk with the grinning Elia. _"So, Arya, has the Crown Prince come up with a plan to get the two of you betrothed? Father feels he's going to do something very stupid but romantic."_

Raising a brow, Arya eyed Alarra skeptically through the looking glass. _"Your father said 'romantic?' I find that hard to believe."_

 _"Well, he said some other words but romantic was what mother described."_ From the first memories Arya had she couldn't have imagined a time where Lord Captain Grey Worm and Lady Missandei Nudho weren't a presence of unbreakable love in her life, but when one applied a critical eye it did seem far fetched that the stoic Unsullied and sweet and jovial translator found love with each other. _If they found a way then Rhaegar and I…_

She shook her head. _"I think I may have to put those feelings aside…"_

"Excuse me?" Elia asked incredulously. "Who are you and what have you done with Arya Targaryen? She's about this high and has a pair of stones bigger than most Lords Paramount even without actually having any."

Elia's penchant for japing aside, Arya recognized the seriousness in it. She knew Elia better than most, and Alarra was shocked as well. _"History isn't kind upon love, unfortunately. Especially not in our family… muna and kepa the exception in that there were no other eligible lords or maidens that offered the same strength not already betrothed."_ Arya could have seen her uncle Robb and Aunt Margaery betrothed to each of her parents, but fate had other plans.

Adding an extra yank into her braids for effect, Alarra shook her head. _"That isn't the Princess Arya that I know. The one I do doesn't give up easily."_

 _"Believe me,"_ she felt a tear fall from her eyes. _"It wasn't easy to come to this conclusion."_

Each of the two ladies were keen on continuing the argument when a silver-haired blur shot into the room at speeds that could rival Edderon on a good day. "Today's the day, Arry!" Too big to climb into her lap as before, Prince Benjen settled by wrapping his arms around his sister from the side. "The tourney's here! The tourney's here!"

Letting her sisterly mask fall over her pain - not that she wasn't genuinely glad to see her happy little brother - Arya chuckled and kissed his forehead. "Today is definitely the day… though I don't think you should run around too much in your fancy doublet." He definitely looked like a proper Targaryen Prince - dapper in his red and black outfit. The ladies would pretty much kill each other to win his favor when he was older.

But he betrayed his Stark origins in a groan. "I hate this… it's so itchy." Benjen furrowed his brows. "I want to wear my squire breeches. You promised!"

That she did. "Brother, I'm competing in the melee tomorrow. You won't be my 'squire' till then." Seeing his dejected frown, Arya changed the subject. "Don't worry. I think the Imperial box will be flanked by House Martell's. I heard that Loreza came from Sunspear for the tourney, and she's still unmarried."

Benjen perked up immediately, to the laugh of the Kingsguard sister of the aforementioned girl. Loreza Martell was a year older than Arya and the last of Oberyn Martell's daughters with Ellaria. Ever since a visit of the Martells to King's Landing three years before, Benjen developed a rather adorable crush on her - not surprising, for she was thought to outmatch Tyene in beauty.

In that regard… "Let's go! Come on!" Benjen raced out, urging his sister to follow as if it would make their parents leave for the arena sooner.

Crossing her arms, Elia locked eyes with her charge. "Tell me I didn't just watch my goodbrother leave the room."

Checking the northern braids in the looking glass and finding them satisfactory, Arya giggled genuinely. "House Martell is a good match and dragons are stubborn. They get what they want…" Her face fell. Except for me. As she left, Alarra and Elia shared a look.

_Rhaegar, you idiot, you better have something up your sleeve to fix this._

* * *

A mile away from the Summerhall Palace itself, through a maze of vibrant gardens and a large barracks for Unsullied and Targaryen Guardsmen, the tourney ground was a wonder unlike any other. An open air collection of large stone stands arranged in a full oval around the grounds for the collected smallfolk that made the journey from as far away as White Harbor or New Valyria, it was the first permanent arena in all of Westeros - though Gendry Baratheon promised that the under-construction Dragon Arena outside King's Landing, the size of the dragonpit, would be bigger. Only the great fighting pits of Meereen could dwarf it in size, though Summerhall could fit more people.

Perfect to hold the Dawn Tourney each year, along with the massive markets and festivals that it spawned. Summertown bustled whenever the Tourney was held, temporary dwellings bringing all sorts of mummers, artists, performers, merchants, and peddlers looking for opportunity. Truly the envy of the entire Empire.

Waiting in a covered corridor after their wheelhouses dropped them off, Arya immediately noticed something wrong. "Where's Rhaegar?"

Daenerys looked back at her daughter, the both of them simply dazzling Valyrian beauties to any objective observers. "Apparently his stomach fell to the malady this morning."

"If Ser Mance didn't inform me it was utterly debilitating, I'd have dragged him out of bed myself," growled Jon. As good a father he was, the Lightbringer had high standards. Not wanting the realm to look down on his heir as they had him.

The Empress swatted him on the arm. "Stop it, our son wouldn't lie." The remaining seven Targaryens milled about, waiting for Lady Hand Sansa to announce them to the awaiting crowd - she was all about the pageantry and spectacle of it all, much as Jon or Daenerys couldn't be bothered. "Worried he'll miss your performance tomorrow?"

Benjen answered before Arya. "I want him to see me be a squire!" Even though the next year he would be pledged to Ser Jorah to serve an actual squire, doing this for Arya meant the world to him.

Dany kisses his forehead. "I know, sweetling. But what about Arya."

 _I want him here to scare off the suitors…_ She averted her gaze, not brave enough to say that. "Something like that." It seemed as if her mother saw right through her, but luckily Ser Lucerys motioned them forward before she could inquire.

"... All hail Jaehaerys Lightbringer and Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen!" they heard Sansa shout. "Long may they reign!"

The collective shout of eighty thousand throats shook the very ground. "LONG MAY THEY REIGN!"

Sunlight of the late morning sky almost made Arya's hand shoot up to shield her face, but she fought to maintain her regal demeanor. Instead slowly walking towards her assigned seat next to the Baratheon box. Arya waved to the faces of the crowd, everyone out of their seats and cheering wildly for the Targaryens. Hurling their love for her father, her mother… and quite a lot for her, oddly enough. That truly made her smile wider, waves firmer.

"Don't let it get to your head," she heard her aunt and namesake say from the box to her left. "They'll turn on you at the moment's notice."

Arya blinked, looking at her aunt as she sat down. Arya Baratheon treated her and her siblings with nothing but love and a wild excitement, but occasionally the sternness begun upon Ned Stark's execution came forth. "I believe that we've earned their goodwill genuinely."

The not-Lady of Storm's End was skeptical. "Perhaps… don't give them a chance to prove you otherwise." Arya nodded, accepting the advice.

All had now seated except for her _muna_ and _kepa_ , both waiting for the cheers to die down before addressing the crowd. "Citizens of the Empire!" Jon boomed, the normally soft-spoken Emperor utilizing some of the Targaryen fire to echo across the entire arena. "We are gathered here on the anniversary of the War for the Dawn. On the fields of Winterfell - my childhood home - on the bluffs, plains, woods, and ramparts on this day ten years ago, tens and thousands of warriors shed their blood, and thousands sacrificed their lives, for their wives, husbands, children, parents… for their houses, kingdoms… for all of humanity." He paused, letting it sink in.

For all her slight stature, in her red-black lace dress looking as if hellsfires were erupting out of the blackness and Saracen strapped to her hip Daenerys projected the same fury that people associated with the Black Dread Reborn. "When you were young," she said in the same voice that brought freedom to the slaves of New Valyria. "These men and women bound their lives in a great crusade - likely the greatest of all time. Their mission is the story of an epic battle and the ferocious, eternal struggle between the living and the dead. The night and the darkness." All were captivated by the beautiful Empress, glowing with the beauty of Old Valyria - not a single soul even saying a word, so entranced by her aura.

Undaunted, she continued. "As the Emperor, the Prince, Princess, and I fought the ultimate evil in the skies above them," Arya closed her eyes, willing away the memories of the screeching wights and gouts of blue flame streaking through the night. She had nearly lost her life and Rhaegar, it still haunted her sometimes. "Until the light of the Dawn the collected horde of dead under the thrall of darkness faced an army of all the living peoples of the known world. They came from the farms of a vast heartland, the streets of glowing cities, and the forges of mighty smiths. Before the war, many had never ventured beyond their own community. Now they had come to offer their lives half a world from home. Northern to Dornish, Free Folk to Reachman, Ironborn to Ghiscari, Dothraki to Westerman, all were united by their duty to their fellow souls and to millions yet unborn."

Finding his father clear his throat, Arya saw a great wariness shrouding him. "Today, we remember those who gave their life for the living, and while the fields of Summerhall are far removed from the battlefield shrouded in snow, our spirits stand shoulder to shoulder with the victors alive and dead to honor them. They stood upon the ground and won." A loud cheer broke out among the crowd, from the wolf howls of the northerners to the guttural war cries of the Dothraki. Nearly everyone in the Empire knew someone that fought or died at Last Hearth or Winterfell, and the scope of the victory was never forgotten.

Arya would certainly never forget.

"But," great emotion weighed on Emperor Jaehaerys Targaryen. He had nearly lost everything that night, and only a loving touch from Daenerys could allow him to continue. "In a larger sense, we cannot truly consecrate their sacrifice. Only the brave men, living and dead, who put their very souls in mortal danger of eternal enslavement by darkness… they consecrated this victory. Little of what happens at this tourney or the tourneys to come will be remembered, but no one can never forget what they did." All around them watched in awe as Jon gave his address. Gods, kepa… Arya was close to crying. "From these honored dead and resolved living we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion - that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain."

A silence rang out from the crowd louder than any cheer. Than any battlecry. Wordlessly, Jon took Daenerys' hand in his, motioning for his family and the Small Council to stand up alongside him. Both monarchs closed their eyes… and with a loud roar Rhaegal and Balerion swept down upon the arena. Their massive shadows blotting the sun until they landed, bellowing into the air and lighting a giant pyre in the center.

"Let the tourney begin!" And then the crowd went wild.

Clapping, Arya jumped when her cousin Sandor Baratheon leaned against the divider between their boxes. He chuckled at her. "Looking forward to the joust start?"

 _Not really… well…_ "I do want to see uncle Rickon kick their asses." She was one quarter Stark after all.

Sandor snickered. "I can't argue against that, but I want the mystery knight to win."

"Mystery knight?" Arya raised an eyebrow.

"Aye." There were always a few that entered every tourney, usually a hedge knight or third son eager to make an impression in the most dashing way possible. "He's the only one this year, so adds a bit of intrigue to this."

"Could be a she, cousin. Like my grandmother Lyanna."

The heir to Storm's End shrugged. "Perhaps." Cringing at the chattering between Melissa Stark and his little sister Catelyn - basically every inch a little Sansa aside from the black hair - Sandor found something interesting. "So, is that gonna be the newest Princess?" Arya turned her head to find both Saera and Benjen conversing with Loreza Martell. Benjen looked like a puppy hanging on to Loreza's every word. It was honestly quite sweet.

"She's already a princess… but yes. I think _muna_ and Lady Tyene are already in discussions - her own daughters are too young." The blaring of trumpets interrupted them. "It's starting."

"And away we go," Sandor murmured, falling back into his seat to watch the show.

"Your Graces!" shouted Sandor Clegane, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. He looked like he really didn't want to be here… but he always looked like that. "The first competitors! Ser Axel Tully of Riverrun against Rickon Stark of Bear Island!"

Their youngest uncle had truly grown into himself. He looked now almost as what the Royal Family remembered of Benjen Stark - tall and toned. A wild northern strength upon his destrider, wearing simple plate of those of beyond the neck. Unpolished, unsmoothened. Rough and functional… and he wore it magnificently. Both her younger siblings screamed their uncle's names, as did the Baratheons, Starks, and Paynes… with the wild war whoop of his wife Lyanna Mormont quite distinctive.

Young and inexperienced, Axel Tully didn't stand a chance. He would get better and was noble, so Rickon went easy on him. A quick but gentle victory on the first tilt, followed by a handshake between cousins afterwards.

 _If only they could all be that easy._ Arya liked Axel, especially since the boy didn't seem to inherit his Frey Grandfather's lust for power and influence. The others though… Arya wished she could set Dark Sister upon any of her ambitious suitors.

Scarfing down the bits of meat off a chicken leg, Sandor Clegane took the glares of the Emperor in Empress at the delay with a shrug. He spat it out and strode forward. "Next up! Ser Halys Bracken and…" He groaned in annoyance. "A Mystery Knight… fuckin' mystery knight… fuckin knight morons…" The last two phrases were mutters, leaving both Aryas in a fit of giggles. Which only served to piss the Hound off more.

"To think mother named me after that cunt," Sandor Baratheon rolled his eyes… only to get a smack to the back of the head for his trouble. "Owww…"

"Watch that language. If it weren't for him neither father nor I would be alive," his mother hissed. Much as Sandor had already matched his mother's height, he shut up. Wise for him.

The Mystery Knight was nothing special. Mismatched black armor held upon his frame by frayed leather. Unpolished, clothes worn and old. His helm was simple, and upon his shield was a crudely drawn one-headed dragon upon a white field. "Trying to suck up to us, I suppose," Daenerys commented.

"I think I like his spunk," replied Jon. "Notice how determined he is." Arya took a second look, and found underneath the shabby exterior was someone… powerful. Such was the same with the horse. _Gods… let him win._

_Why did I think that?_

Assembled at their positions, the unknown knight thundered out at the horn down the field. Lance depressed almost perfectly at the Bracken knight. Both lances splintered upon contact upon the other's shield. A draw.

"Impressive," remarked Gendry, one of the few words he would say for the day.

"Beginners luck," huffed his wife.

"Or else he practiced for this, dear sister," Jon called out.

Unlike her namesake, Arya didn't have anything to say - simply entranced by how the knight grabbed a new lance and took his new position. Riding the horse as if born upon it. _He was trained by Dothraki._ Such was seen as he continued onto the second tilt, riding down Halys Bracken until a blow to the knight's shoulder that sent the heir to Stone Hedge toppling to the sand below.

Claps boomed across the arena, the hardest being Arya. She liked this knight already - he had style.

The next several matches went pretty simply. Robin Arryn tried his hand at the joust and even Arya had to admit, in his gleaming armor and slender frame he cut a dashing figure that impressed many maidens. He and his wife, a gorgeous beauty from Myr, didn't have any children yet and the ambitious could seek to seduce him away from her. That largely went out the window to the suppressed chuckles of the Targaryens and Starks - and the open laughs of the Martells and Baratheons - when he went toppling from his horse by Lord Rollan Caron of Nightsong, an ugly but strong warrior and veteran of all battles alongside Gendry.

Not to mention Robin's temper tantrum was quite hilarious to watch. The rumors of Harrold Hardying sleeping with Robin's wife kept looking truer and truer.

Edric Dayne - husband to Dorea Martell, Tyene's younger sister - versus his goodbrother Lyle Crakehall - married to Dorea's older sister Obella - was also enjoyable, two seasoned warriors clashing in furious tilt after tilt. Arya counted four until the more dashing Sword of the Morning managed to deliver a blow dead center on the heavier Strongboar's chest as Lyle's shattered upon Edric's shield. Down went Lord Crakehall, though to the approval of the crowds he sidled up to his goodbrother and shook his hand.

Quite a few boos greeted the Lord of Casterly Rock as he led his magnificent steed onto the grounds - only quieted when the Emperor and Empress warmly greeted him. Tommen Lannister might have grown up into quite the dashing knight and well-regarded lord, but House Lannister was still largely despised by the populace. Such kept Jaime and Brienne from leaving Casterly Rock for much… Tommen was barely tolerated.

He faced the much more well-liked Lucas Corbray, a Kingsguard that the royal family was fond of, as did the crowd. But what Tommen lacked in adoration he made up for in skill. Quite a shock to those that remembered a mild-mannered boy that barely survived the Long Night when after a mere two tilts, he unhorsed Ser Lucas with ease.

That was not liked by the stands, but drew a rare Imperial ovation for his honorable treatment of Ser Lucas. Arya, feeling daring, even leaned down and kissed Tommen on the cheek. It was chaste, but undoubtedly irked many of the young knights who hoped to vie for her hand. _Tommen is happily married to Talla Tarly…_ Rhaegar wouldn't be jealous. She wanted the others to be.

Clegane basically close to open rebellion at this point, Ser Lucerys Velaryon took over as herald. "Lastly, the Mystery Knight shall face Ser Garse Hightower of the Hightower!"

"Well, bye bye mystery knight." This time it wasn't Sandor that said it, but Alarra. When she honestly arrived in the box, Arya didn't know as Missandei and Grey Worm were guests of her uncle Robb and aunt Margaery. But there she was, sitting beside her. "He's doomed."

At the arrival of Ser Garse, Arya couldn't help but agree. The son of Lord Baelor and winner of the last Dawn Tourney, Garse stood high on his horse in the splendor of his House, one of the wealthiest in the Empire. However, he was regarded as one of the best horsemen in the Realm, routinely beating out expert Dothraki riders whenever he had the chance to sharpen his skills. While not the warrior his father was, in tourneys he was outmatched.

The shoddy Mystery Knight didn't have a chance… though Arya had a curious feeling she wanted him to.

It was a feeling close to when she bonded with Edderon.

"HIGHTOWER! HIGHTOWER! HIGHTOWER!" Many from Oldtown made the journey here, but truth be told the crowd utterly loved Ser Garse. And unlike many others, he took it modestly. That was a point in favor for him of the Imperial family, but the Mystery Knight drew the scrappy underdog vibes that Jon and Daenerys were drawn to. They projected an outer neutrality, but their children, siblings, and friends knew who they rooted for.

Arya kenw Ser Garse rode like a Dothraki horse god, her eyes were only upon the Mystery Knight. Finding Garse only when his lance broke upon the white shield. Shattering apart while he staggered upon his saddle - unlike Halys Bracken, Ser Garse held his position upon his horse but the tilt was lost to the Mystery Knight. "I don't fucking believe it," Alarra murmured. Arya felt her heart soar.

When the riders aligned themselves, all in the crowd watched with far more interest at a more equal match. Horses charging at each other, both lances shattered this time upon breastplates, splinters flying every which way like locusts upon a field, littering the ground beneath them. "That's going to Ser Garse," commented Sansa, noticing that he was more steady on the horse than the Mystery Knight, who looked pained. He managed to pull himself together as they both gathered for the match to continue.

"Mystery Knight!" Arya shouted at the top of her lungs before her voice was drowned out by eighty thousand throats crying out their favorites. But it was almost as if the black-armored rider could hear her. Straightening in his saddle as the heralds announced the third tilt.

It played out in slow motion. Horses galloping all out at each other. Armor gleaming in the sun. Sweat soaking their tunics as lances depressed, going into first contact with their foe…

_Crash!_

A blow to the shoulder sent the Mystery Knight staggering. But a blow of his own that shattered his lance upon the stomach of Ser Garse caused the reigning champion to tumble to the ground. Unceremoniously kicking up a cloud of dust as he hit. There was a long pause in the shock of it all before a roar bracketed the arena.

Through the jubilation of the smallfolk and nobles alike at the new favorite of the day, Arya could have sworn that whatever eyes rested behind the dark vision slits of the Mystery Knight's helm were staring directly at her.

And she reveled in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Mystery Knight sure made an entrance!
> 
> Season 8 was a cancer, wasn't it? Good thing Jon has Dany to get him through the nightmares.
> 
> Loved writing all the family :)
> 
> Jon and Dany's speech was a compilation of Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Address and the speech commemorating the 75th Anniversary of D-Day by President Trump. Felt both fit a speech commemorating the Long Night... We deserved that, a battle to be remembered and not fucking forgotten cause two assholes hated Emilia.
> 
> Next time, Arya fights in the Melee.


	4. Melee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Things have calmed down over here, thank God.
> 
> Some personal stuff is coming up for me and I'm gonna be very busy. While I plan on continuing updates (writing relaxes me), I will likely not be as active on the website for a while. Not disappearing by a longshot though.
> 
> Enjoy and review :D

"Can you shut up," Saera hissed at her idiot cousin. "Do you want people to hear us?"

Jon Stark was often yelled at by his parents and Maester Wolkan, but it was Saera's ire that affected him the most. "There's no one here," he half-heartedly defended, pointing to the woods east of the keep all around him.

But Saera wasn't having it. "And we want it to stay that way!" She ran a hand through her hair. "That's why Mance and Sam aren't here. Their disappearance would be noted." Two young highborns napping in their rooms. Easy recipe for sneaking out if Mance, Elia, and Little Sam backed them up.

"Still… we don't even know your brother is gonna show up? Maybe he got craven and disappeared like Aunt Lyanna?"

Half of her wanted to smack her cousin. The other half - plagued for the last day with what her dragon told her - wanted to kiss him. Have her first kiss and prove once and for all if Lyanarys was right.

Plus, Jon looked eminently kissable with the Stark curly hair and Tyrell honey-brown eyes… "Hey!" Jon cried out as Saera smacked him.

"That's what you get, idiot." She tried to hide her blush - hoping that Jon didn't put it together she used the same endearment as their aunt Arya did with uncle Gendry.

 _'Idiot?'_ Jon shook his head. _No, it can't be like Aunt Arya…_ They walked in silence through the woods, sunlight growing fainter as the day ended. "It's spooky in here."

"Don't tell me you're scared of southern woods after living close to the Wolfswood?"

"I know the Wolfswood, this is unfamiliar for me."

Saera chuckled. "Such a babe." An unfamiliar cry caused her to almost yelp in fear. With their direwolves and dragons they feared nothing, but both had to be left at the keep for they advertised exactly who they were. She held her head fearlessly, but Saera weaved her hand in Jon's arm nonetheless.

Several minutes passed, the two of them finding the clearing after several tries of looking. No sign of Rhaegar. "So where is he?" Jon asked.

"I don't understand it," Saera murmured, growing apprehensive. "He was supposed to be in this clearing."

"Maybe he just got lost…" the heir to Winterfell beggan to say…

A shadow appeared from behind a tree. "Boo."

Letting out a shill scream, Saera buried herself against Jon's side while the young Lord pulled out his short sword gifted to him by his father only one month before. He pushed his cousin behind him, pointing the sword at… "Cousin?"

Snickering, Rhaegar enjoyed the fright on his little sister's face… until seeing just how close she was to his cousin. That was… interesting. "Found your knight in shining armor, little sister?" he asked with a smirk.

Peeking out from Jon's side, Saera suddenly shoved her dumbfounded cousin to the side and raced to Rhaegar. Hitting his still armored chest. "You stupid, stupid, stupid…" red with anger, a string of profanities tumbled from her mouth, making both males shocked.

"Seven Hells, where did you learn that?"

"Your lover," Saera shot back.

Rhaegar chuckled, "Oh Arya." She never ceased to surprise him.

"Forget that! What took you so long?"

It was the Crown Prince's turn to roll his eyes. "Ned Umber and Corlys Velaryon got drunk and decided to go hunting for bears in the woods."

Saera furrowed her brows. "There are no bears here."

"You're telling me! I had to spend an hour trying to skirt around their drunken nonsense. They almost hit me with a crossbow while singing 'A Bear and a Maiden Fair." He took in their quivering lips. "It's not funny."

"I don't know, cousin, it seems quite funny," Jon laughed. "So… if you want to make it to the feast then you'll have to hurry…"

Glancing down at his Mystery Knight armor, Rhaegar muttered to himself and grabbed the sack in his sister's hand. "Did you bring my doublet and breeches?"

"The exact outfit Missandei chose for you, yes yes. I'm not addled."

"Sometimes I wonder," Rhaegar yelled back, already stripping off his armor as he ducked behind a massive tree. _The things I do for love..._

* * *

The great hall of Summerhall was truly unlike any other. Most keeps in Westeros were dark, drafty things even when large and grand such as that in Harrenhal, the Red Keep, or even Highgarden. But the first artisans and master builders that Daeron II employed to create the palace put emphasis on comfort rather than intimidation. Light instead of security. And with the added resources of the free cities and Bay of Dragons at their disposal, Emperor Jaehaerys and Empress Daenerys only expanded such. While sunlight streamed in during the day, at night the starry sky shone down above the crystal chandeliers. The locals called it the Hall of the Heavens, one of the wonders of the world if the singers were to be believed.

Crown Prince Rhaegar, Princess Saera, and Lord Jon Stark didn't have time to marvel at its glory as they met Little Sam at the imperial entrance. "Where have you been?!" Sam hissed, hand on Heartsbane in irritation. "Their Graces have delayed both dinner and their toasts because of you."

"I'm sorry, we were… indisposed," Rhaegar replied, drawing incredulous looks from his sister and cousin. "Whatever, I'm here now."

"Good, though you better have answers for their Graces."

Saera smirked, puffing up her hair. "Leave that to me."

Even with the feast delayed a half hour, the hall was abuzz with merriment. Wine and ale were allowed to flow freely, guests unwinding as they mingled with each other. Long-lost friends reconnecting after a year or more of separation, Lords, Triarchs, and merchants negotiating trade deals over a sweet Arbor gold, and budding betrothals in the process of forming through parental negotiation or subtle flirting. Many an almost-bastard was conceived at the Dawn Tourney, many marriages flooding the septs and godswoods as a result.

The imperial table was gaudily decorated with murals of dragons and wolves behind, ornately carved from the sturdiest Ironwood. Each of the Targaryens and Starks laid seated at the table, Jon and Daenerys taking the large throne chairs right in the middle. None truly enjoyed the gilt and grandiosity, but it was a form of signalling. House Targaryen and Stark ruled the Empire, and they were determined to show it.

Jon was immediately roped in by his father and clucking mother, pulling him into a tight hug. Saera ran to her parents while Rhaegar took his seat between his mother and Aunt Sansa, sending a glimpse to his twin - eyes reflecting an endless love. Arya blushed, confirming she received it.

"Well, son, we were worried that we wouldn't be graced with your presence," his father stated firmly, but with a look of bemusement on his face. His mother and the rest of his family looked at Rhaegar with curiosity, not maliciousness. "Your mother and I were greatly worried when you were too sick to go to the joust."

"Your twin as well," Arya said, voice catching slightly. "What happened, brother?"

 _"Muna, Kepa."_ Saera looked at them with wide, innocent eyes. "Jon and I were just going to his room to cheer Rhaegar up. He was very sick, but my cousin gave him a northern remedy that settled his malady right up." Beaming, she looked the picture of innocence.

Rhaegar was impressed at how seamlessly she lied. "She was a lifesaver, kepa."

His father nodded, pursing his lips while his mother smiled. "Well, that's just fine. On with the festivities." Arya raised her eyebrow in question. She was one of the few who could see through their little sister's duplicity. Luckily Benjen, Rhaenyra, and Daena were truly innocent-minded.

Awkwardness aside, the Targaryen-Stark family began to unwind and enjoy themselves over dinner. Feasting on the honey-glazed pork, pastries, fresh fruit, and warm, crusty bread. A dozen toasts rang out from Lord after Lord, praising the imperial family and the might of House Targaryen - demanding that Jon and Dany draw their legendary blades for a demonstration, each of which the monarchs declined with profusive humility. That only seemed to make them more loved.

They danced together. Robb and Margaery danced together. Sansa and Podrick danced together. The couples ended up splitting, taking dances from Lords and Ladies from the top of the Wall to the edges of New Valyria. Rhaegar and Arya ended up pulled into it as well, he paired with Lady Meredyth Hightower while Arya danced with Larance Hornwood and Tommen Lannister in quick succession.

Luckily for Rhaegar, the beautiful Hightower's prattle was replaced by the warm form of his mother, Daenerys having insisted at the dance from 'my handsome dragonwolf,' said in a different tone than how she addressed his father with the same words. Watching Arya in a happy pair with their father, he sighed in contentment. The bond they had, parents and children, such had stood the test of coming of age. "Are you alright, sweetling?"

Looking down at his mother, Rhaegar nodded. "Aye, I'm fine, muna."

"Stomach feeling better?" She giggled at his look of irritation at her prying. "I ask because your sister would be mightily put out if you miss her big day tomorrow."

"The melee? Oh, right." Truthfully, with all of what was going on with him, he forgot about it. "I'll be there. Nothing could keep me away."

"Good." His mother hugged him close, only for Rhaegar to wince as she pressed on one of his bruises without knowing it. She regarded him curiously. "Did you bruise?"

Rhaegar wasn't as good a liar as his little sister, but he tried. "Yeah… banged my shoulder against the door to the bathchamber."

"Mmmm-hmmm." Daenerys raised an eyebrow, but thought better of it. He knew what he was doing. Something behind him caught her attention. "Looks like your sister has a new partner."

"What?" Glancing behind his shoulder, Rhaegar saw Arya in the hands of a silver-haired man… one who was not of their family. "Who is that?'

Daenerys caught on to his jealousy. "That's Lord Gerold Dayne of High Hermitage. They call him Darkstar." He twirled Arya around the dance floor, making her laugh. Her son's hands tightened on her hand and waist - she liked that, how he wanted his sister away from other men. Jon was the same way. _My two handsome dragonwolves…_ "He's one of Arya's most ardent suitors."

"Is that a fact?" As the music petered to a stop, Rhaegar took his mother's hand and kissed it. "Thank you for the dance, _muna._ I love you."

She gave him a brilliant smile. "I love you too, my son." Watching him walk off, Daenerys sent a little prayer to the gods. _Let him go get his Queen._

Not stopping till he was right before the older Lord and knight, Rhaegar offered him a fake smile. "Shall I cut in?"

Darkstar didn't budge, though he smiled just as fakely. "My Prince, I would love to. But I promised the Princess another dance as we enjoyed before."

"You were trying, Lord Gerold. She was succeeding." Looking at the both of them, Arya bit her lip to keep from laughing at her brother's not-so-subtle put down. Wordlessly, she shifted into his arms. "Thank you, Lord Gerald." With that, the Prince and Princess glode away, leaving the Lord of High Hermitage to stew.

Gods, it felt good to be in her brother's arms again. Arya missed him something fierce. "You didn't have to do that," she chided, laughing at his antics. He was so cute sometimes.

"Did he bother you, Arry?" asked Rhaegar, the two of them settling into the slow rhythm of Jenny of Oldstones. A sad yet popular song, being written by his namesake.

Arya sighed, trying her best not to just bury her face in his neck and inhale his scent as she wanted. "A little. Darkstar lusts after me."

Rhaegar chuckled. "So many lust after you, sister. You are a beautiful woman"

She knotted her brows, but relaxed as he gazed upon her with what she recognized as love. "I only lust after one, you know." They shared a laugh as he twirled her about, spinning catching on among the other couples. "So tell me, where were Saera and Jon?"

Blinking, Rhaegar attempted a blank look. "I don't know what you mean?" Inside he trembled. Was she catching on?

"Don't play stupid with me, brother," she whispered. "I know you're covering for them. What mischief have they been up to?"

_Wait, she only suspects them?_

That was a relief - perhaps he was more cunning than he had always thought. Fooling bandits or enemy armies were one thing, fooling his family was another thing. "You caught me." He rubbed the back of his neck, taking a chance and squeezing Arya's waist. "Jon was determined not to be scared of the dragons, so Saera took him to meet Lyanarys."

"Oh." Arya giggled. "How did that turn out?"

"Seems she likes our cousin." Rhaegar smirked. "She and Rhaegal think that the two of them will be mates."

Arya's eyes widened. "Really?" She thought about it. "I can see that… at least they have a chance." Her sad glint in her eyes made Rhaegar ache. They merely continued to dance, the Prince not knowing what to say.

Watching the two of them dance, outwardly as siblings having fun together but to any that knew them close to ripping each other's clothes off right there, Gendry shook his head as he pulled his own wife on the dance floor. A rare treat from the notoriously iconoclastic not-Lady Arya Baratheon. "Do you think they'll ever just admit it?"

"If Rhaegar's anything like you, he'll just sulk and never make a move," she smirked, leaning up to kiss her husband on the lips. "She'll have to do it."

"And if she doesn't?"

Opening her mouth to respond, the fact that her niece was her brother's daughter… "Oh gods…" Biting her lip, Arya looked at the couple. Seeing the sadness in their eyes. "If she's anything like Jon, she'll brood until her parents make the decision for her." Now Arya's eyes shifted to the Imperial table, watching as Jon and Daenerys doted on each other, laughing and sharing looks of love and affection. "I think they want them to prove themselves."

"I think they will," Gendry offered with a smile.

Arya snorted, holding Gendry ever closer. "You were always an optimist." He merely chuckled and pulled her along to the tempo of the song.

* * *

The trumpets blared across the arena as Rhaegar took the seat of honor next to his parents. Catching a brilliant smile from Daenerys. "I am certain your sister will win with you here to watch."

"I don't know, my love," Jon replied, crossing his arms as he waited for the participants to arrive on the field. The melee was the first of the events that day, followed by a break for meals and then the archery competition. Not the most watched events in the Dawn Tourney, but the stands were packed nonetheless… especially with the Princess participating. "Ned Umber is in this, as is Robar Royce. Even with Dark Sister, Arya will have to go all out to win."

"She'll win, father," Rhaegar answered confidently, drawing raised eyebrows from both of his parents.

Saera grinned behind them. "And why is that, brother? Why do you have such confidence in your twin?" Rhaegar wanted to toss her into the fountain, how cheeky she was being.

"I would like to know myself, nephew." While the Baratheons had taken the position of honor the last time around, the Starks of Winterfell held the box to the right of the Imperials. Robb leaned over the parapet, eyes watching his nephew expectantly. "Your aunt Margaery also would like to know."

Groaning, Rhaegar shrugged. "She's been training for months. I've learned never to bet against a dragon."

Daenerys beamed. "Good motto, my son. Never bet against a dragon." Looking over to her husband, the two shared a twinkle in their eyes - hands reaching for the other to clasp tightly. When Rhaegar wasn't looking, the same knowing look came from her goodbrother and goodsister. Seemed the entire family was behind their twins… and only Rhaegar and Arya couldn't see it. _Hopefully that changes soon._

"Presenting the knights of the melee!" announced Ser Mance, his voice booming as the first of the heavily-armored fighters strode onto the field. Each qualifying round the previous day of the tourney had been single combat between the contestants, but the final match was in the style of Old Valyria - a free for all pitting fourteen of the best fighters in the Seven Kingdoms against one another till a single victor emerged. And among those that competed was…

"Arya!" shouted Benjen at the top of his lungs, jumping up and down so his sister could wave to him before Jon could calm him down.

Clad in the scaled armor of Old Valyria, the lightest sort of plate that could have graced the body of Queen Visenya Targaryen. She waved at the entire crowd, letting their adulation feed her willpower to win the day against far larger and more imposing knights from all across the Empire. Those of her family were the best of them, Aunt Arya engaged in an unladylike whooping, her Uncles and other Aunts clapping like mad… she saved a special wave for her little brother…

But it was Rhaegar that drew her attention. He merely clapped politely, but the gaze in his eyes. Half-loving and half… appreciative… hungry? It made her blush, willing not to get wet while in her armor. _If only we were married._ She knew exactly what she'd do to him if they were after this fight.

All fourteen knights were lined up. From Robar Royce of the Vale to Samwell Mullendore of the Reach, Haggoz mo Maraz of the fighting pits of Meereen to the hulking Ned Umber of Last Hearth - transformed from the small boy he had been to the beast before them now. And Arya, removing her helm to allow the silver hair of her dragonblood to glint in the sun. Rising along with Dany, his sons, and daughter, Jon beat a clenched fist against his chest. "We, royals of the House of Dragons, salute you brave warriors today on this field of honor."

Arya and the knights on the field repeated the gesture. "We, warriors of honor gathered today in a test of strength and skill, salute our Emperor, Empress, Princesses, and Princes for this day and all days to come." Bearing their armored hands against the plate or mail draping their chests, each placed their helms back on or lowered their visors as the royals resumed their seats. "Give me strength," Arya whispered to the old gods and R'hllor both.

"Honored knights… and Princess," Daenerys' eyes met his daughter's, secretly communicating her love and blessing. "May the best win!" With a wave of her hand, the Empress signalled the start of the melee.

The rules were simple. First blood meant defeat, and attacks designed to cripple would lead to automatic disqualification and stripping of the knighthood. Attacks designed to kill would lead to execution. Thus, all the fighters were at their best behavior. Strenuous and tough, but calculating as well.

Arya drew the first 'kill' of the day. Clashing swords with a Riverman knight of House Darry before slashing across his chest. It wasn't deep, but it was a clear win. She grinned under her visor, racing to find her next target while Ned Umber's fist bashed a Dornish knight in the face… felling the next competitor.

So engrossed in the action, not an eye off Arya as she danced upon the arena, the Imperial family missed how Ser Lucerys opened the entrance flap to their box until the last empty seat were taken by a slender, raven-haired girl in a plain brown dress. "Forgive me, your Graces."

Daenerys and Jon looked at the newcomer with both sympathy and friendship. "No need to apologize, Meera. We're glad you could make it this year."

Lady Meera Reed of Greywater Watch was a comely beauty in spite of the roughness of her lands, one that received many marriage proposals each year considering her friendship with the Imperial Family. But she declined them all, the love she shared for the deceased Bran Stark - Hero of the Empire - still burning hotter than dragonfire. A quiet life in the Neck with her son Brandon Reed - nee Brandon Snow, nephew of the Starks - was in the cards, though Arya was sure she had found some lovers to ease the loneliness.

No one begrudged her that. "What did I miss?" Meera was alone, Bran left in the palace to look after his young cousins.

"Arya is impressive. Already defeated two…" As Jon spoke, a Westerlands knight had his side shallowly sliced by Dark Sister - knocking him out of the fight. "Three of her opponents."

"She'll win," Rhaegar said simply.

"She might," Robb commented from across the railing."

"She'll win!" Arya Baratheon called out loudly, making herself heard.

Leaping at the hesitating Robar Royce, Arya remembered how the Lord of Runestone brought up the betrothal arrangements in the first place. Her fury directed on him, Dark Sister cutting through the air as she charged. Steel clanging against his blade, Robar's strength and discipline desperately holding his own against the assaulting Targaryen.

It wasn't enough, Arya stabbing forward and piercing Robar's mail. Slicing a gash along his arm. _First blood to House Targaryen._ Nodding graciously to Arya, Lord of Runestone left the field, there remaining two fighters for her to face… Suddenly someone slammed into the Princess, knocking her down just as a curved blade came slicing at her. She deflected it with Dark Sister, making out the smirking visage of Haggoz mo Maraz of Meereen. In the distance, the defeated Ned Umber - once the favorite - hobbled off the field nursing a non-fatal, non-crippling thigh wound.

One fighter to face.

"Get up, Arya!" Saera yelled, nearly screaming and jumping on her chair. "Fight for House Targaryen!" Rhaegar gripped the seat below him, nearly carving gouges into the wood. _Come on Arya. Fight… fight for me..._

Eyes locking with the Rhaegar's for a split second, Arya felt a surge of dragonfire course within her. Sucking in a breath, she kicked up with a booted foot, sending mo Moraz reeling back. She took the moment to leap up to her feet, twirling Dark Sister in hand as she charged. A downward chop was dodged, Arya spinning on her feet and lashing out in a furious series of slashes. Steel clashing against steel, two quick and fluid fighters battering at each other. Tens of thousands watching with bated breath at this clash of the titans.

A blow caught Arya's shoulder, the Princess crying out in pain but still pushing forward. Armor holding and blood not drawn. Unable to see his twin hurt, Rhaegar looked away… only for his mother to touch his shoulder. "Sweetling… Don't worry, she's going to win." Blinking, Rhaegar swiveled back to the fight.

Darting and spinning, quick on his feet, Arya parried a lunge. Dark Sister twirling in her wrist and going on the offensive once more. Joined by her feet, leaping up in a front kick that connected with his lightly armored chest. Mo Maraz howled in pain, leaving Arya a perfect opening to race forward and bash him in the face with the ruby pommel. A sliver of blood dribbled down his chin and onto his tunic.. "Yield," ordered the Princess.

Rules being rules, the brave champion of the fighting pits lowered his sword. "Yield."

"She did it," Rhaegar murmured.

"She did it!" Benjen whooped.

Sweat drenching her, body aching all over, Arya nevertheless took in the cheers of the crowd as she approached the Imperial box. Removing her helm and tugging at the ribbon that tied her hair up. Letting it fall down among her shoulderplates. "Your Graces!" she called out, holding Dark Sister against her chest. "My sword is yours to command." Even aching, she bent the knee - just as she did when accepting the ancestral blade as her own.

"Rise, Princess Arya of House Targaryen!" Jon commanded, pride and love in his voice. The little girl with a cherubic face and innocent eyes had transformed into a great beauty - a powerful dragonrider just like Visenya. He and Daenerys loved her even more now. "You are truly the champion of champions! All hail Princess Arya!"

"All hail Princess Arya!" repeated Daenerys.

"All hail Princess Arya!" shouted Robb.

One by one, the cry carried down the boxes until the entire crowd chanted it, pouring their adulation upon the Dragonwolf Princess - clearly the favorite so far in the tourney. But under it, all that Arya could hear was her brother's cheer. Longing with all her heart that she could be with him.

For it would mean more than all the victories in the world.

* * *

It wasn't the same without Arya.

Much as the desire to rob his beloved of her maidenhood drove him to distraction - not that she didn't suffer from the same burning urge - only with his sister by his side could Rhaegar ever find true serenity at night. Resting his head upon Eddy's soft fur helped slightly, but the burly direwolf wasn't Arya. The patchwork of tunnels and secret passageways in the Red Keep offered so many chances for him to sneak into her chambers or for her to sneak into his.

Summerhall was a different story altogether, and with the specific issue of the tourney… "Looks like I'm stuck with you, boy," Rhaegar murmured, leading to Eddy licking his face. "I know, I know, but I'm sure you'd want to cuddle next to Sonar." Eddy's tail began to wag gently at the mention of Arya's direwolf, proving Rhaegar right.

His head hit the pillow, shoulders and torso still aching from the repeated blows upon the jousting field. Reminding him of what he had gotten himself into. _Fuck… I really did it…_ The more Rhaegar thought about it, he began to breathe heavily. _I'm a mystery knight in the Dawn Tourney… oh gods…_

Joining the lists had been a spur of the moment decision, driven by desperation and love for his Arya, but only at that moment did Rhaegar realize just how reckless he was being. _If kepa and muna planned differently, then this would be an act of defiance._ He always tried to keep his love for Arya as a private matter - only the dragons, direwolves, and kingsguards involved directly. None of his family explicitly knew it, though Rhaegar was convinced they tacitly approved.

But none of that mattered with politics. The Empire was at peace, who was Rhaegar to ruin that?

"What do I do, boy?" He asked Eddy. The direwolf merely cocked his head, licking his nose. Rhaegar rolled his eyes. "You're hopeless…" Suddenly his eyes withdrew back into his head. Whiting over as he began to shake slightly. Drawn into a realm far different from his own.

Eddy merely laid flat, snuggling against his side.

_"Rhaegar… Rhaegar…"_

_Opening his eyes, he was in a clearing… no, a Godswood. Staring at a weirwood tree he recognized as the one in Harrenhal. One of the largest in Westeros. And before it was a young woman. "Who are you?"_

_She stood there, smiling with eyes glistening with affection. "You know the answer to that, my dear."_

_Peering, Rhaegar studied the woman. She was northern, a Stark she ended up being. Grey eyes and chestnut brown hair, almost like his aunt Arya in looks except for being taller and more graceful… it hit him. "Grandmother?" Lyanna Targaryen smiled widely at him, which simply made Rhaegar gasp in realization. "Grandmother!"_

_Before he knew it, Rhaegar was enveloped in a crushing hug. "Oh my handsome grandson," gushed Lyanna, squeezing him tight._

_"Grandmother…" Rhaegar couldn't help but be overcome with emotion. Holding the woman with the piney scent of the North that had bore his father. Who had died tragically at a young age for the crime of loving his grandmother and namesake. "I love you." Even with all his loved ones, Rhaegar felt his heart clench from not being able to know her._

_Lyanna felt tears well in her eyes as well. "I love you too, Rhaegar." Pulling back, she gave him an appreciative glance as his mother did often. "Gods, you've grown into a mighty dragon Prince. The splitting image of your father and grandfather."_

_Rhaegar found himself beaming through his melancholy. "Really?"_

_"Of course." Lyanna cupped his cheek. "You have my Rhaegar's eyes, and your father looks exactly like him but for the eyes and coloring." She pressed a kiss to his forehead. "And from what you're doing in this tourney, you have their honor as well."_

_A blush formed on his cheeks. "Grandmother…" The moment felt supremely intimate, one that he greatly enjoyed… but when else would there be a chance to interact with the great Lyanna Stark Targaryen - a woman whose statue graced the entrance to the Dragonpit alongside his namesake. "I took inspiration from you, grandmother. Of what you did at the Tourney at Harrenhal."_

_She smiled at him. "I can see that. All but the same sigil, though I think that would be too on the nose." Tucking him closer into her embrace, Lyanna enjoyed her grandson leaning his head against her shoulder. "Never thought I'd ever root for my grandson to seek the hand of my granddaughter, but such changed when I became Lyanna Targaryen. A dragon by marriage, anyway."_

_"You were always a dragon at heart, dearest gooddaughter."_

_Rhaegar looked up to find a slender woman with silver hair looking down at him. Almost like an older version of his mother. As before, his realization was instinctive. "Grandmother Rhaella?"_

_Sitting down upon the bench, Rhaella Targaryen took her grandson and great-grandson in her arms. "Lyanna was right. You have turned into the perfect mix of my son and grandson." She squeezed him tight. "I am so proud of you, Rhaegar. For being such a powerful Crown Prince and for seeking the woman that loves you."_

_Biting his lip, Rhaegar looked at each of his grandmothers. "I love Arya… but… what if I only bring shame to our family? Your father and uncle married for love, grandmother Rhaella, and caused so much dissent in the realm for it. And with your love for grandfather…" He didn't need to go on about what transpired with Lyanna._

_Sighing, Lyanna covered Rhaegar's hand with her own. "I loved your grandfather desperately, Rhaegar, and he with me. We didn't plan on what happened, and only now do we know that what transpired was the doing of Robert's ego and Baelish's greed. I regret not making sure our marriage was shown as the love match it was, but I will never regret loving or marrying him."_

_Rhaegar felt Rhaella cupping his cheek. "You don't have much time, my beloved grandson, but heed this - my marriage was out of duty, and I paid the price for what my father demanded of me. Aerys didn't deserve to be king, but duty made me and all others support him… and the realm bled for it." Such was true from how Rhaegar learned it. All the Empire learned the truth from his mother's chronicles of the Song of Ice and Fire, where she didn't gloss over the perfidy of Aerys II Targaryen. "Don't do things because everyone wants you to, because everyone fails at who they should be. You should only be focused on being who you are."_

_Tears welled in his eyes. "I love you, grandmothers." He was enveloped in a hug, murmured words of affection whispered in his ears as the entire scene evaporated into white._

Eyes flying open, Rhaegar could see the tendrils of the sun poking into the room. A heavy knock upon the door. "Get up, brother!" called Saera. "You gotta be on the grounds soon."

He swung his legs out of bed, no longer conflicted of what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we get three cheers for Arya?!
> 
> Rhaegar got to meet his grandmothers. I thought it was sweet and fitting (thank you bykim0120 for the Rhaella idea).
> 
> Loved writing all the family :)
> 
> And do I see more affection between Jon and Saera? :D
> 
> Couldn't not put Meera in there.
> 
> Next time, the final day of the joust.


	5. Champion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, the second to last chapter here of this little story :)
> 
> Enjoy and review :D

The tension and excitement in the air was palpable. Three hours into the final joust - the great climax to what was the largest event of competition in the entire Empire, only close to matched by some of the fighting pits in Meereen - already some of the mightiest riders in the known world fell to their challengers… culminating in when Tommen Lannister toppled from a direct blow to the chest from the Mystery Knight. Clinching his position in the final joust.

"Now that's a proper way to go!" Saera whooped, clapping harder than any of her family. _Gods Rhaegar, don't give me such a scare…_ That victory was pretty dodgy for the middle two tilts before the fourth finally threw Tommen off his saddle. "Don't you think, Arya?"

"I like him, he's got style," her Aunt grinned, ruffling her niece's hair. Drawing complaint from her.

Jon stifled a chuckle. "I believe she was referring to your other niece, sister." He got a punch to the shoulder in response. "Ow."

"I know that, stupid… gods, does anyone get my sense of humor?" Expectantly, she looked at her husband.

"I'm just glad she didn't call me stupid," he shrugged, earning a punch himself for his trouble. "I knew that was coming."

"Sure you did."

As her parents, aunts, and uncles continued to playfully squabble, Saera took the opportunity to lean towards her sister. "Well? What do you think?"

Arya finally took her eyes off the tourney grounds, where they had been glued for every tilt of the Mystery Knight's. "I think he rides well," she finally said.

"Do you not want him to win?"

Breathing deeply, she shrugged much like their uncle. "I… I don't know. Part of me… knows he has to win, and I don't have a problem with that." Saera laughed to herself - even shrouded in armor, Rhaegar had an affect on her sister.

Feeling eyes on her, she looked to House Stark's box and found her cousin's eyes hard on her. Saera pulled back with a blush - was this what Arya felt?

Luckily for both of them, Rickon's arrival on the field silenced all debate or discussion. He would be facing Lord Gerold Dayne, the Darkstar - both very skilled contenders in their own right. The love of most of the crowd was for the wolf knight of Bear Island, though, and it seemed to inflate him. "Go Uncle Rickon!" shouted young Sandor Baratheon, bearing the same fire as his mother.

At the sound of the horn, the two riders galloped headlong at each other. Both lances found their mark, shattering upon their shields in a dual blow. Draw. Arya watched her uncle slow his destrider to a halt while Ser Gerold looped around. Showing off his more gaudy armor for the crowd's approval - studded with amethysts and rubies befitting his status as a wealthy Lord. Most might be dazzled, but she was disgusted. _Show off..._ The horn blew again, and they charged.

Gasps rang from the highborns as the two horses shot past each other, only one with its rider still mounted. Lance shattering upon Darkstar's shield, the Dornish lord's had crashed against Rickon's shoulder… toppling the knight of Bear Island to the ground with a loud thud. Such was a pretty humiliating fall on only the second tilt, but the murmurs only increased as the seconds passed - Rickon failed to rise.

"Oh no…" Arya murmured, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Rickon!" her namesake shouted, standing from her seat.

Wordlessly, Daenerys sought out Jon's hand - squeezing it tightly with a worried look.

Before the guards could rush out, someone else beat them to the punch. It was the mystery knight. Each of the royals watched as he made his way to where Rickon lay stricken on the ground, kneeling before him. He didn't remove his helm, but that didn't stop the knight from taking Rickon's hand, hauling him up to cheers from the crowd while Lord Gerold didn't bother leaving his horse.

"Well…" Meera remarked, crossing her arms. "I know now whom I'll be supporting."

"Oh, agreed wholeheartedly," Jon replied, looking at his daughter. "Do you agree, sweetling?"

Pursing her lips, Arya nodded. "Aye, I do." Honestly, she had wanted the Mystery Knight to win even before Rickon was knocked out of the contest… Arya didn't know why, but it just felt right.

As if the knight's victory would be something she'd remember for the rest of her life.

* * *

Everything inside Rhaegar pleaded to retreat to a tent and douse himself in water - armor still on and everything. His entire body ached, blood pumping hot even in the rather chilly winter clime around him. Defeating knight after knight to make it into the final tilt drove him to near exhaustion, but as he picked up another lance, Rhaegar's eyes fritted back to Arya. To just how beautiful she was. Glittering red and black dress of their house… silver hair let to tumble freely down her shoulders.

He resisted the urge to blow her a kiss. The disguise would have to stay in place… for now. Clicking his tongue, Rhaegar guided his destrider towards the Imperial box - in the corner of his eye, the sleek Dornish mount of the Darkstar did the same.

"Presenting!" announced Mance, taking the place of Sandor who absolutely refused to demean himself again by being the herald. "Lord Gerold Dayne of High Hermitage and the Knight of the Grey Dragon."

"We bow before the Imperial family, swearing our swords to Emperor Jaehaerys and Empress Daenerys in perpetuity," both rattled off, clasping their fists to their breastplates. It was all rote nonsense to Rhaegar - even though he meant it, there was no guarantee that others would no matter how deferent they acted.

Nevertheless, his _muna_ and _kepa_ gave nothing away in how they regarded such sincerity or lack thereof. "May the gods grant you strength, may you conduct yourself with honor, and may the best knight win," Jon stated, raising his hand and granting them leave to trot to the fields.

Doing so side by side as was tradition, Rhaegar heard Gerold look at him. "Anything to say before your defeat, hedge knight?"

Rhaegar wanted to roll his eyes. _This cunt thinks Arya would be his?_ The thought had his blood boiling even stronger, almost masking his fatigue and filling him with energy. "You will lose." Pithy remark delivered, he cantored to his own starting position before the Darkstar could respond, smirking underneath his helm.

Opponent thirty yards away, Rhaegar lowered his lance. Gripping his shield with all that it was worth. At the blaring of the trumpet he whistled. Beneath him, his destrider neighed, charging out in a thundering gallop. Going all out, the stands beside him passing in a blur as all that registered to him was the position of himself, his weapons, and his horse… and that of his opponent, the Darkstar getting closer and closer in his bright silver armor.

It was over in a split second, but it felt like an eternity to Rhaegar. Shield wanting to punch back into him as a scraping filled his ears.

Darkstar had hit him with a glancing blow on the shield… he had missed. _The fuck…_ Rhaegar mentally cursed himself, turning the horse around to ready for the second tilt. focus… you're doing this for her.

The second tilt was barely announced before both riders went at each other - neither holding anything back. Rhaegar's determination proved true, shattering his lance upon Darkstar's breastplate while Lord Gerald hit his shoulder. Unlike the last tilt, now Rhaegar held the advantage in points. All around, the onlookers watched with interest.

"Mystery Knight!" screamed Prince Benjen, showing the exuberance of youth - the rest of the royal family wished to join their young Valyrian Prince but kept their decorum, quietly clapping and whispering their commentary too each other… all but Arya, quiet and eyes locked on the competitors readying for the third tilt.

"Lord Dayne won't let up," Margaery mused.

"I think the Mystery Knight has it," Meera added to her goodsister in all but name. "He's won over the hardest person to win." She gestured to their niece, who's hands dug into the seat beneath her as the two of them erupted at each other.

The third tilt didn't disappoint Arya's hype. Rhaegar shattered his lance upon Darkstar's shield while Gerold slammed his into Rhaegar's shoulder. The blow nearly knocked Rhaegar off, gripping the reins with both his hands and struggling to stay steady. His shoulder burned as if buried in lava of the dragonmont… at least what it must feel for the unburnt Targaryen. Saddle almost twisting around his destrider, at the last minute Rhaegar managed to right himself, breathing heavily.

"He made it!" Saera announced, having been close to breaking in tears watching him almost fall. Reassuring herself as much as her family. "Thank the gods."

"Aye," she heard her father say. "The gods seem to be favoring him today. I can feel it." Saera could have sworn his grey eyes sparkled at her with recognition.

Almost seeing Lord Gerold smirk at him from under his helm, Rhaegar ignored the stabbing in his shoulder. Willing away the pain. Only one thing mattered, and that was victory. For Arya. The herald sounded. _FOR ARYA!_ Hooves slammed against the dirt below, kicking up clods behind them. Lance low and aiming true, Rhaegar's vision turning red with the strain as he met Darkstar right at the middle of the field…

It was over in an instant. Rhaegar took the lance to his breastplate, the wood shattering as he gasped in pain. But his lance hit true, shattering upon Gerold's shield in such a force to knock the Darkstar from his horse.

Rhaegar had won.

While the roars of the crowd would normally die down by now, but as the Mystery Knight trotted the length of the jousting rails they showered him with praise. "Mystery Knight! Mystery Knight! Mystery Knight!" They loved it. Both him as a strong and vigorous warrior and the simple pageantry of it all. A sense of wonder at someone unknown defeating the greatest knights of the Empire - all the guesses and betting over which lucky maiden would get the coveted crown of blue Winter Roses only adding to his mystique.

A mystique Arya fell into as well even as she clapped and hooted. She watched as the knight made his way towards the Imperial box. Remaining on his destrider - such allowed him within reach of the Emperor and Empress, his right as a champion. While all eyes were on him… Arya shivered, noticing the vision slit in his worn helm staring directly at her. Even a masked face could radiate want and desire.

She suddenly stiffened. _Who is he to gaze upon me with lust?_ The moment passed, though, her father addressing the entire arena.

"Citizens!" His voice boomed out, the crowd instantly quieting in what would be eerie to anyone not well-versed in Emperor Jaehaerys III Targaryen's stature among the smallfolk. "Before us is the true champion, the embodiment of the spirit of warriors past, the first among his equals that gathered here to display their courage in homage to those that gave their lives for humanity."

Looking down upon the Mystery Knight, Jon addressed him directly. "A well fought joust, good Ser. You have earned this victory against what I must say were daunting odds." Going into the joust, most were pointing to Rickon Stark, Garse Hightower, or Gerold Dayne to take the crown. "As champion, you shall collect fifty thousand gold dragons… but I doubt that tidy sum is what those gathered here have gathered to see."

"Crown of Love and Beauty!" Prince Benjen interrupted his father, jumping up and down in excitement.

Laughing merrily, along with the rest of his family, fellow nobles, and the crowd, Jon nodded. "Aye, my son, the Crown of Love and Beauty." He turned back to the knight, smirk on his face. "But before her Grace grants you your right, remove your helm."

The knight hesitated, staring up at the Imperial box. If one didn't know better, he seemed to be trembling.

 _What is wrong with him?_ "Take off your helm," Arya commanded, crossing her arms in annoyance. Still he hesitated.

"His Grace gave you an order." Lord Commander Sandor placed his hand on the hilt of his blade, gesturing for the Unsullied guarding at the base of the stands to preventatively guard against the non-complying knight. "Take off your helm."

Refusing again - more out of indecision than anything malevolent - it was Daenerys who calmed the situation. "Reveal yourself, mystery knight." Her voice was sweet, one that could charm any brute into laying down his sword. "Please, I would like to know the identity of the man who shall crown the Queen of Love and Beauty this year."

Black slit meeting the purple eyes of the Empress, slowly the knight's hands went to his helm. Arya watched smugly. Eager to see who this upstart would ultimately be…

Only to stare with a soundless gasp… not that there weren't many audible gasps and murmurs from even their box. The helm plopped onto the sandy ground, revealing… "Rhaegar…"

Her brother - the Crown Prince - looked up at his family. Shaggy dark hair tied back into a simple bun, face covered in sweat and grime from the day's clashes… and yet he looked the epitome of a Targaryen warrior. Standing straight upon his steed, broad shoulders and strong frame making even the ill-fitting, mismatched armor look fierce, and purple eyes sparkling in the sun as his gaze fell once more on Arya, all found the seconds of silence transforming into something even louder than his victory over Ser Gerold.

"RHAEGAR! DRAGON PRINCE! RHAEGAR! DRAGON PRINCE!" Every bit of love for his namesake and his parents was poured upon the victorious Crown Prince, who smiled sheepishly and pushed back his modesty. Waving to the crowd, eyes still glued to the beaming smiles of Jon and Daenerys… and the numb shock of the Princess Arya.

Minutes passed before the cheers died down, allowing the servant carrying the crown of Winter Roses to hurry to Rhaegar's side. Offering it to him. "My son," Daenerys said, voice quivering from happy tears - having a feeling at exactly where this was going. "You have made no mother prouder in their children as I." The servant presented the pillow with the crown for Rhaegar to take. "Crown your Queen of Love and Beauty. There is no one more deserving than you."

Unable to comprehend that her beloved had actually competed in the tourney… won the tourney!... hearing her mother only made Arya's blood go colder than a white walker. _He could have any maiden here…_ Suddenly she grew insecure, fearful, wishing to shrink back as Rhaegar picked up the crown. He looked at all the highborns gathered, purple eyes likely capturing the hearts of ladies young and old alike. It took everything to keep Arya from just running away, her own heart beating out of her chest…

"Princess Arya." Eyes opening, Arya gasped again. There he was, holding the crown out to her. "One does not presume to crown a Targaryen Princess without asking her permission."

Normally his quips would make her snort, smirking with amusement - as it did her family - but here she simply covered her open mouth. Arya utterly shocked for only the second time in her life, first being only minutes before. A warrior Princess that had fought the Night King in the skies over Winterfell, driven to a stunned silence by a tourney.

_By the man I love with all my heart._

Summoning her strength, Arya finally found her words. "You have my permission, Prince Rhaegar." The smile that stretched out on her face was unavoidable as she leaned down. She felt the soft blooms rest upon her silver locks, making her the envy of every maiden and the prize of every knight in the Empire.

But she was only for one. Eyes locking with Rhaegar, love and want reflected back at each other. "Just kiss already!"

Unable not to laugh at Saera's bluntness - more of their aunt than her own namesake - Rhaegar moved to pull at Arya… only for Arya to almost leap out of the box. Leaning down on the railing and crashing their lips together. Not even the thundering screams of adoration from the crowd registered in their minds after that.

Wordlessly, seeing their children finally express what they had always kept hidden, Daenerys pressed her side into her husband. Sighing in happiness. "It couldn't have gone better."

"I don't see how I can refute that, my love," Jon answered back. In the back of their minds, a chorus of growls - almost amused - hit their minds. _Muna… kepa… I knew they had it in them._

Glancing at Dany, her eyes twinkled with mirth back at Jon. All attention upon the still kissing pair, he chuckled softly. "That you did, Rhaegal, that you did."

 _If you don't betroth them, you aren't riding me ever again._ Balerion's tone made no room for argument.

"Oh stop it." Dany only clapped for them harder, grinning like a madwoman.

* * *

It had truly been a whirlwind… Surrounded by hundreds of well-wishers and onlookers after the passionate kiss he shared with his sister in front of the entire Empire, Rhaegar needed half the Kingsguards and dozens of Unsullied to escort him past the throngs of people. One could suppose the highborns held more decorum than the adoring smallfolk… but one would be wrong. Young knights trying to kiss Rhaegar's ass, older Lords… trying to do the same, and even young maidens and seasoned widows attempted to flirt with him. Subtextually angling to be his mistress and hold the power in court it provided.

But like his father, Rhaegar would answer them with a smile and perhaps a handshake before walking away - Ser Mance and Ser Samwell giving such pathetic people a firm yet gentle shove for their brazenness.

Competitor and victor that he was, Rhaegar was still a Prince and owned the amenities that such title provided. Which was why he found himself in his own chambers, alone except for the subject of his affections. Pulled into an embrace with a succulent pair of lips crashing into his own.

"Why did you do that?" Arya murmured, desperately kissing him. Not caring that his hands mussed her carefully pleated dress - rather, she moaned into his mouth at the contact. Missing his touch so badly.

Gods, she was beautiful. His beloved already had the ethereal beauty of Old Valyria, only enhanced by the ghostly blue flowers pressed atop her hair. Like the ice of the North… their grandmother's blood. "Because I love you," was his simple answer. Kissing her eyelid.

Tears pricking her eyes, Arya nevertheless beamed at him. "I love you too…" Kissing him fiercely, she pulled back. "Seven Hells… I'm the Queen of Love and Beauty." It was every young maiden's dream, and underneath her dragonriding and swordsplay, Arya was no exception for the little feminine dream. She twirled around, letting her dress swish at the ground as she displayed herself for her man.

"Aye, you are." Rhaegar's eyes scrutinized her with a rather prurient gaze.

She noticed, batting her eyelashes innocently. "I suppose since I am a Queen now, I outrank a mere Crown Prince."

Rhaegar snorted. "I don't think so, Arry."

"That's 'Your Grace,' to you, Prince Rhaegar." Arya was rather enjoying this. Hoping that her man would claim her like a wolf in heat. Oh, did she ache for it after so long. "Address your Queen," she commanded.

Growling, Rhaegar pounced on her… only to wince in pain in the process of pushing her onto the bed.

Playfulness and lust turned to a fearful concern. "My love?" Arya sat up, easing Rhaegar to lay on the bed. "Easy. Rest, brother. Let me take care of you."

 _That does sound lovely._ "It's nothing," he murmured.

"You being hurt is not nothing to me. I finally have you before the entire Empire and I'll be damned if you go off injuring yourself and then shrugging off my affections." Glaring down at him, her eyes sparkled when he sighed and relented. Raising his arms so Arya could slip off his tunic. "Oh, Rhaegar…"

"Quite bad, huh?" Bruises dotted his body from the joust, the most glaring being one on his shoulder and one on his stomach from the final match that gave him his victory and Arya the crown. "We've both been through worse," Rhaegar quipped.

Arya rolled her eyes. "I'd rather not be reminded of our battle wounds." Arrows and stray daggers had done their fair share of damage during their campaign against the bandits. Retreating to their bathchamber, Arya returned with soaked linens. "Here, don't move."

Sighing in relief as the cool water and fabric touched his skin, Rhaegar closed her eyes and enjoyed Arya's touch. "I meant what I did… my dragon."

"Mmmmm… my dragon? I like that."

"I'm going to _muna_ and _kepa_ and demanding your hand."

"I would think you made it obvious today." Still soothing his bruises, while outwardly confident and flippant, inside Arya's chest thumped. _What if they still say no…_ "I mean, they have to say yes now."

Rhaegar's eyes opened, the intense purple making Arya shudder. "They will say yes. I will make it so." She hadn't wanted to straddle his hips and take him more than now...

But a knock on the door interrupted such a moment. "Gods, what is it?!" Arya bellowed.

"Their Graces request your presence." It wasn't Sam, Mance, or Elia, but rather Ser Lucerys - sent by the Emperor and Empress to retrieve them.

Sensing Arya's trembling hand, Rhaegar clasped it in his own. "We shall be fine, my love."

His touch calmed her. Smiling, Arya leaned in for one last kiss before they had to depart for the throne room.

* * *

"So they finally pulled their heads out of their asses." Crossing her arms, Arya Baratheon smirked. "Honestly, I thought it would be my niece… that's what happens when you let this one," she gestured to Sansa. "Influence your daughter, Daenerys."

While two decades ago such a comment from Arya would have resulted in a vicious, personal insult, this time Sansa only rolled her eyes. "You taught her how to swordplay, sister. That was likely more an of effect on the _winner of the melee_ than my lessons."

"Enough," Margaery interjected. "Shouldn't we just be glad that they finally rose to the occasion?'

Robb leaned in and kissed his lady wife. "We are, my love, but it's just so surprising… probably they got his brooding." Now it was his turn to gesture, pointing his thumb back at Jon.

A groan left the Emperor. "Why is it that we've descended back to the courtyard of Winterfell," he murmured to his beautiful wife. "It's like Lady Catelyn is just about to scold us back to our lessons."

Giggling, Dany took his hand in hers, bringing it to her mouth for a kiss. "The more things change, the more things stay the same. We've ended all possibility of political marriages since peace has finally arrived, and another Targaryen intermarriage is about to happen."

"From what Sandor tells me." Jon quickly looked at Robb, who was now fending off arguments from Rickon and Arya, before turning back to Dany. "Perhaps we'll have to plan for Saera to be Lady of Winterfell."

"Her and little Jon?" Pursing her lips, Dany shrugged. "She couldn't do better, I believe. Like our boy Ben, enamored with the youngest Sand Snake."

Jon grinned. "Dragonwolves… aiming high in our love."

Dany kissed his cheek. "Aiming high and succeeding, I would say."

Thankfully, the argument beside them was broken when Grey Worm entered, banging his spear against the tile. "Your Graces! Crown Prince Rhaegar and Princess Arya!" Even he seemed proud of the delights of the Empire, though no one could blame any member of the Imperial household.

The two of them were casually dressed, not that either Jon or Daenerys wished to torture their son after his trenuous victory. Even still, their light clothes were of their house colors with a dash of grey of House Stark. From what they could tell, Arya and Rhaegar were doing their best to keep their nerves at bay… they shared a look. _How are we so blessed to have such wonderful children?_

Leaning forward, Jon eyed his eldest children with a piercing stare. "So, that was a… very impressive and bold performance at the joust today, my son." Leaning back against the throne, he glanced at Daenerys, who couldn't help but look pleased - serious, but pleased.

Eyes frittering from his mother, father, aunts, uncles… Rhaegar drew in a deep breath. Before he spoke but a word, he reached for Arya's hand, fingers weaving together. Drawing strength from her. _"Kepa…"_ Rhaegar switched to something more formal. "Your Graces. I wish to ask something of you."

"Go ahead." Jon gestured to them. "I didn't teach you to be timid. Ask what you wish."

Determination surged in Rhaegar… this was just the last tilt of the tourney. Facing against the most intimidating opponents - his father and mother. But he would not back down. _"Kepa, Muna_ , as Emperor and Empress of the Targaryen Empire, I must ask that you grant me leave to seek Arya's hand in marriage."

Without prompting, Arya cut him off. "Please, we have loved each other since I can remember. We've fought together, grown together, laughed together." The sincerity in her voice surprised even Arya - sincerity and love. "I cannot bear to see myself with another and he cannot either when it comes to me.

"We are meant for each other, _kepa_." It felt cathartic to let it all out. For the both of them to confess their deepest feelings to not only their parents, but to their entire family. No airs or secrets remaining, however badly kept.

There was a long silence. Daenerys looked at Jon, waiting expectantly. Jon briefly shut his eyes, face brooding and pensive. A knot formed in Rhaegar's gut, Arya going pale. Did they anger him? Upset him in some way, simply by confessing their feelings and begging him for permission to wed? The only thing they truly ever had to ask from his father…

"Did you ever think we would say no?"

Both the Princess and Crown Prince - eyes flickered away from their father in fear and shame - turned to him with stunned looks. Eyes widened and jaws falling open… so far so that not-Lady Arya, Robb, and even Meera chuckled at how comical it was. "What?" Rhaegar finally managed to stammer.

Beaming with pride and happiness, Daenerys rose, clapping her hands together. "What I think your kepa means is, we've been wondering for years now why you would have thought a betrothal between the two of you was undesired." Quickly stepping down to their level, she pulled her daughter into an embrace. "Nothing has made us happier."

Their parents' acceptance suddenly hitting them, Arya's eyes began to water. "Oh, gods…" She fell into her mother's embrace, hugging her tightly. "Thank you…"

Gaping, Rhaegar looked between his mother and his father… "But the betrothal offers…"

"We were never going to accept them, son." Jon clasped Rhaegar's shoulder. "But perhaps we should thank them for spurring you to a dragon's boldness."

"I'll thank them, alright," the elder Arya said cryptically.

"No, sister, you're not going to kill them," Jon laughed, the humor spreading to all the rest. Without prompting, Dany drew her eldest boy into the hug, which by acclimation Jon joined as well.

All was right in the world of House Targaryen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now who's GOAT? Prince Rhaegar, that's who!
> 
> All of that was fun to write, especially Arya's reaction to both her brother and her father.
> 
> Next up, the conclusion. Thank you for sticking with this! Let's see if we can get twenty comments on how awesome Prince Rhaegar was :D


	6. Wed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... looks like we've reached the end of this little story. Thank you to all the readers that stuck with me for this little tale of fluff :D
> 
> Enjoy and review :D

"Now you're just talking nonsense, cousin." Saera shook her head, once again exasperated by the unholy mix of Stark stubbornness and Tyrell charm that was Jon Stark - that one could say the same about her mix of Stark stubbornness and Targaryen fire and blood didn't cross her mind. "That story is a legend."

Jon scoffed, determined to convert Saera to his sense of adventure. "They said the same about the Long Night, yet that was real."

That would have been a good point against someone far less intelligent. "Actual sightings of the army of the dead confirmed that, stupid. If Jaecarys Velaryon's dragon Vermax laid eggs in the Winterfell crypts, I'm sure someone would have found them in the last two centuries."

"That's cause they didn't look hard enough."

"A massive dragon?" Saera threw her arms up in exasperation. "There are only a few places in the crypts that one could go."

But Jon was not deterred, placing a hand on her shoulder. "But I have something that they don't." His grin spread from ear to ear. "For the next year, I have someone with the blood of the dragon to search every inch of the crypts with me." He looked quite proud of himself.

She looked at him incredulously. "Really? You expect me to comb miles of underground caverns with our dead ancestors to find some mystical eggs that may or may not be there?" Pushing through dust and pulverized rock thousands of years old wasn't her idea of a good time - especially not during her fostering.

"No. I expect the two of us to search for those eggs together." His bright smile could light up the room.

Opening her mouth to retort, Saera stopped herself. The more she thought about it - a dark space, just the two of them - the more butterflies that fluttered in her stomach. A light blush covered her cheeks as she shrugged. "I guess it won't be too bad in that case… though if you wanted to kiss me, cousin, why not find an alcove?"

Blinking, Jon looked from side to side - as if a wolf sentry checking for danger. Seeing no servant or, gods forbid, either of their parents, he grabbed Saera by the front of her shirt and pulled her to an alcove. No sooner did she yelp from the suddenness of it all did his lips press against hers… and Saera wasn't about to say or do anything else but kiss him back.

Their first kiss had been moons before, when Jon and her uncle and aunt left for Winterfell, pledging to prepare the ancient keep for the coming wedding. It had been soft, hesitant, the two of them planning to see whether the moon would find their tentative feelings would grow or disappear. Both soon had their answer when Saera planted her lips on Jon the moment they had a time to themselves upon the arrival of the royal family. The rest… Saera didn't want her parents to know yet, but unlike her dolt of an older sister she was sure they'd be happy.

Pulling back, Jon's smirk hadn't changed while Saera felt light-headed. "I suppose that I'll enjoy more of this in the future." She snaked her arms around Jon's waist, hugging him. "You're stupid sometimes, but Winterfell wouldn't be the same without you."

He reciprocated her embrace. "Same, Sae. You're my world." Youthful puppy love, but genuine for both of them. "Just promise you'll keep your dragon from eating me."

Saera chuckled. "I make no promises." Her eyes twinkled. "How else will I keep you from getting on my bad side." Jon frowned, the classic Stark scowl. She responded by kissing him again.

About a quarter of an hour later, the middle Princess of House Targaryen cursed her idiot cousin again. "Damn Jon, does he know what today is?" she muttered to herself, trying to fix up her hair in a way that didn't look like she was kissing Jon Stark with his hands buried in her locks. Granted, she wore a shirt and trousers from her water dancing lessons with Aunt Arya earlier, but that wasn't a secret.

Waiting outside the door to the guest chambers, Grey Worm nodded his head as Saera passed him - opening the door for her to enter. If he had an inkling of where she had been, his Unsullied mask didn't give anything away. Saera wished for Ser Jorah or Ser Sandor… they wore their moods on their sleeves.

"There you are!" In an instant she was swept up by her aunt Sansa. "Gods, Arya, you don't need to make everyone as unkempt as you."

"What?!" the other Arya exclaimed, rooted in her place as both Daenerys and Missandei worked on her braids. "You mean she's not ready?! Gods help me…"

Their other aunt smacked her sister's shoulder. "Stop it, little wolf," Arya Baratheon said. "I get you're nervous, but don't be. And Sansa… I'm not going to deny any of my nieces or nephews the wonder of my genius." She bowed extravagantly, drawing a giggle from Saera, a scowl from Sansa, and an amused smirk from the Empress.

Before a whole argument could start, Daenerys pointed at Saera. "Just fix her up, sister, if you can."

Sighing, Sansa pushed her niece towards another vanity. "Alright, let's do something with that hair." Suddenly Saera wished for her cousin's hands in her hair rather than the prodding and pulling Aunt Sansa was subjecting her to.

* * *

Trying his best to suppress a chuckle, Emperor Jaehaerys Targaryen reached out to pat Crown Prince Rhaegar on the back. "Easy, son. You'll carve a ravine into the ground if you pace any harder."

Snow crunching against his black leather boots, Rhaegar looked up at his father with a put out expression. "Father, please." Normally not bothered by the cold of his grandmother's native land, he rubbed his hands together. "And I'm fine, there's no need to worry about me." How he seemed to sweat even under the cold of late winter belied the truth of that statement.

Jon shook his head. "Rhaegar, I've been married before to a bride of House Targaryen. I've been in your shoes, so don't try to put up a brave face with me," he said softly.

A smaller figure beside them piped in. "If you were any more jittery, you'd be bouncing." At the glare of his older brother and the shaking head of his father, Prince Benjen offered an innocent expression. "What? It's true."

Sighing, Jon reached over to hug his youngest son. "Ben, why don't you go inside and see what's keeping your mother and sister?" Eager to please his father, Benjen ran off, his silver curls bouncing as he hurried towards the keep through the throngs of dignitaries from all over the Seven Kingdoms. "And you need not worry about Arya, my son."

Rhaegar looked up at his father. "Why are you so sure?"

Seeing how Rhaegar was shifting on the balls of his feet, Jon could see the same insecurity in his son that he had as a child. It truly broke his heart. "It's obvious to anyone that she loves you and thinks you are the whole world. She won't be backing out." A smile formed on his face, attempting to absolve Rhaegar of his remaining fear. "You're going to rule one day, and Arya is the one to sit beside you just as your mother sits beside me."

Biting his lip, Rhaegar suddenly felt something large and furry pushing against his leg and abdomen. Eddy looked up at his master, eyes pleading. Nuzzling Rhaegar with his snout once more, as if begging him to be happy. Unable not to find it quite comical, the Prince ruffled the direwolf's fur and turned towards his father - accepting a powerful hug. "Thank you father." Eddy barked. "Of course I don't forget you, buddy. Thank you, Eddy." The direwolf wagged his tail, tongue lolling out.

A chuckle left Jon. Everything that he had lacked as a young lad… that his own children knew such a wonderful, loving family made him believe that his actions had been right. "I love you, son."

"I love you too, _kepa."_

At that point Benjen hurried into the Godswood, bouncing up and down dramatically. "She's coming!"

Rhaegar managed to look to the entrance of the godswood and that was when he saw her. His young twin sisters started the proceedings, followed by Saera, Aunt Arya, Sansa, and… The glimpse of her took his breath away.

The empress holding her arm, Arya's heart did a little catch. Beyond the lantern-lit trees at the great heart tree of Winterfell, she saw him standing there. Supremely gorgeous in his black and red cloak, hair styled back in an immaculate bun. She wasn't anything less than beautiful in an dress white as snow, the same dress that her mother had worn at her wedding here so many years before. But faced under the warm, loving gaze of Rhaegar's violets she seemed too inadequate for him.

But by the grace of the Gods, she was to be his, and he to be hers. _I am a lucky lady._

As Arya and Daenerys approached the heart tree, the Northern lights began to dance in the sky. Dany looked at Jon with a bright smile. Just like their wedding - the best of omens. Jon smiled back, at both the omen and at how the soon to be wed couple only had eyes for each other. Jon began, clearing his throat. "Who comes before the Old Gods this night?"

Sucking in a powerful breath of the icy cold air, Arya steeled herself. "I, Arya of House Targaryen, Princess of the Targaryen Empire. A woman grown and true of birth. I come to be wed in the presence of the Gods."

"And who comes to give her?"

"I, Daenerys of House Targaryen," the Empress told her husband, wordlessly handing Arya to her final moments as an unattached maiden. "Empress of the Targaryen Empire and mother of the bride."

"And who comes to wed her in the sight of the Gods?"

Fighting tears in his eyes, Rhaegar reached out and took Arya's hands in his. "I, Rhaegar of House Targaryen, Crown Prince of the Targaryen Empire."

Northern weddings were simple affairs. None of the elaborate ceremony or pomp that characterized that of the Faith. Jon personally thought it was perfect, as did Dany. Rhaegar and Arya deserved such simple beauty in the beginning of their life together. "Arya of House Targaryen, do you take this man?"

A tear trickled down Arya's cheek, accepting she was here, in this moment. "I take this man." She almost laughed at how Rhaegar looked relieved. _You faced the joust as a mystery knight for me and thought I'd say no?_ Rhaegar was just too adorable, and all hers.

"Rhaegar of House Targaryen, do you take this woman?"

Rhaegar wanted so badly to kiss Arya, but that time would come. "I take this woman."

"The bride will now cloak the groom in the sigil of his house."

Moving behind Arya, his breath hot on her neck, Rhaegar took off the red and black cloak of House Targaryen… only to just stand there. Letting the time tick by… what was the point? She was of House Targaryen just as he was, so Rhaegar shrugged and placed the cloak back on her shoulders. The entire godswood laughed merrily, some even clapping. Daenerys approached her son and kissed him on the cheek before the ceremony started up again.

Gingerly, Jon wrapped a strip of silk around his twins' hands. Binding them. Symbolically and literally. "In the sight of Gods and men, I hereby bind these two souls together for eternity."

To the cheers of their family, howls of their direwolves, and roars of their dragons, the bride and groom sealed their union with a passionate kiss.

* * *

Rather thankfully, the ladies' ribald words were the only thing lewd about the ceremony. Each maiden or older lady kept their hands to themselves, saving the perverse appreciation for their wandering eyes. Rhaegar didn't truly mind. It was flattering, though the prospect of his bride being pawed at by drunk knights didn't sit well with him.

Just as suddenly as he had been scooped up, the ladies heaved Rhaegar to the ground. If not for strong footwork he'd have fallen on his ass. "Alright Princess!" Called the spicy voice of Tyene Martell. "We've left him still wrapped for you. Enjoy!" The other ladies giggled as she shut the door behind him.

Whatever embarrassment Rhaegar felt dissolved quite quickly when he caught sight of his beautiful bride.

Resting on the bed, Arya was still clothed rather neatly - the knights hadn't been so perverse, it seemed. However, the snowy-white dress was gone, replaced with a thin wool nightdress. It covered what it needed to, but was loose enough to expose her shoulders and the very top of her cleavage. The various braids holding her hair up had been disturbed, silver locks cascading down her bare shoulders like a silky sheet. Rhaegar often said she looked like a goddess, but at that moment she truly did.

Arya bit her lip, violet eyes twinkling at her husband. _Husband…_ "So…"

"So…" Rhaegar repeated, a small smirk forming on his face. "Alone at last, wife."

Cheeks flushing red, Arya shyly looked away. "Yes, alone… we've been alone before."

"Not while married." Sensing her sudden modesty, he walked over to her, unlacing the ties of his doublet while on the way. Rhaegar sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Feeling her shudder… momentarily tensing, Rhaegar relaxed when she looked at him, love in her eyes. "Are you happy, Arry?"

Closing her eyes but for a moment, Arya's smile spread slowly across her lips. "Gods, yes." Unshed tears made her greys glossy. "It feels like a dream."

He smiled sheepishly. "I know the feeling. It's what I've wanted for so long, but… it just doesn't seem real."

Brushing her thumb across Rhaegar's smooth face - unlike their father, he insisted on being clean shaven - Arya had an idea. "Perhaps a cup of wine to loosen us up." She rose, feeling his stare hungry at her backside. _All yours now, my Prince._ Smirking to herself, Arya put an extra sway in her hips. Teasing him. A sudden groan made her grin in triumph as she grabbed the flagon and two crystal goblets.

Seeing the fine Arbor gold, Rhaegar took one of the goblets and waited as Arya poured each of them a little wine. "To us."

"To our life on Dragonstone," Arya replied, clinking their crystal and sipping down their wine. It went down smoothly, sweet and tart like grapes. "But I'm glad we're traveling across the Empire first." Newly married and the Crown Prince and Princess - future Emperor and Empress of the realm - per their parents' directive both she and Rhaegar would travel on dragonback to all major cities in Westeros, New Valyria, and the client states in the known world. It was exciting for Arya, especially in seeing the cities of the Bay of Dragons or the Great Grass Sea for the first time since their childhood.

It excited Rhaegar as well. "And I am going to enjoy fucking you all across the realm… especially in those Essosi dresses." He leaned into her ear. "I heard in Lys, they wear a dress where one's left nipple is exposed. I will greatly savor that." Seems the wine did loosen him up.

Eyes dilated, Arya let her glass fall upon the rug as she grabbed Rhaegar - crashing their lips together. Her husband's tongue eagerly plunged inside. She complied, guiding his hands to the hem of her nightgown while going for his doublet. Wanting it off. Wanting to be flush against him, skin on skin. Arya had seen Rhaegar nude before, but the hard planes of his stomach stirred something different inside her. Growling like a dragon, she dove for his breeches.

Clothes seeming to melt off their bodies, Rhaegar's hands were all over his bride's chest and waist. He explored the soft skin as they collapsed on the bed, never once breaking their hungry kiss. They had kissed before, pleasured each other before, but never like this. There were no barriers between them, both figuratively and literally.

"Gods, Arry, I love you," Rhaegar gasped, flicking her nipples as he licked down her creamy neck.

Arya's heart was bursting. "I love you too. Oh, my Prince…" Hands wandering, she found his erect organ. Thick and ready for her, fingers wrapping around it.

He groaned at the attention. "Sister..." she heard him whisper, making her heart hitch with love.

 _What was it they said about Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa? That the entire keep could hear the sounds of their pleasure?_ Leaning up slightly, Arya grinned. _That's what I want._ "Fuck me, brother," she growled out. "Take me, I need it… I need you…" A shiver of pleasure warmed her as lust overwhelmed his violet eyes.

"You're beautiful." Rhaegar rubbed his cheek against a nipple. "So beautiful."

Gasping, Arya stretched her body out, writhing underneath her husband's hard body. She grasped his head, holding him there. "Please, my love. Don't stop." But stop he did, looking up at her, their eyes meeting. _Love comes in at the eyes._

Rhaegar searched her eyes for any hesitation or worry. He found none. "Are you ready?"

She nodded breathlessly, taking his hand to swipe through her heat. "Feel it, my Prince."

Eyes widening, he had never felt so much wetness between her legs before. "Fuck… I love you, Arya."

"Love you too," she replied, reaching down once more and guiding his length to her entrance. "There's no going back from this."

"I know… isn't it wonderful?"

She smiled at him. "The best… please don't make me wait any longer, Rhaegar. Make me yours." She locked her legs around his waist. "You're the only one I ever want."

The feeling was unlike any other. Rhaegar trembled with Arya's walls clamping around him. _Gods… I had no idea..._ The heat was intense, pure dragonfire. "Arry..." Preoccupied with the amazing feeling, a soft whimper of pain drew his attention. "Should I stop?" he asked, concerned at her discomfort.

Arya shook her head, clamping her legs tighter around him. "No, do not stop." The pain irritated her, but the thought of him leaving was the worst torture. "I'll be fine." Cupping his cheek, she kissed him. Slowly, the pain dissipated and she urged him to go slow, moaning as he began to rock inside her. The kiss never broke, the princess enjoying such a delicious fullness. "Rhaegar," she purred into his mouth.

Whatever restraint Rhaegar had left him at her moans. The dragon urge to claim what was his roared, growing harder. Fucking his bride deeper. He thrusted hard, slamming her rear into the bed. Cock rising till it almost left her and then right back in.

As he broke off the kiss, Arya wanted to scream but nothing came out. Unable to make a sound, the sweet pleasure of his length trying its best to split her in two. "Fuck… Rhaegar…" No ribald jape or cautious lesson from her mother could have ever began to describe how powerfully her husband could pleasure her. If by instinct, Rhaegar knew exactly how to make love to her. "Oh gods!" The force of a thousand dragons was building in her core, and release was soon upon her.

Increasing the force of his thrusts, Rhaegar watched Arya's eyes roll back. Her body shaking with pleasure. If she felt even a fraction of what he felt… Walls contracting like a vice around him, he just couldn't continue. "Arry!"

Feeling his seed erupt inside her, Arya broke as well. "Rhaegar!" Her vision exploded in colors, shaking violently with the waves of her climax. The two of them simply enjoying each other's pleasure and their own... She felt him collapse on her, leaving nothing but a spellbinding bliss.

"I love you, Arya."

"Mmmm… I love you too."

Flipping them over, Rhaegar drew the furs atop their shaking bodies. Warding off the cold of the North. "A lifetime with you, Arry, as it was supposed to be."

Purring happily, Arya could get used to that. Him still inside her, she pressed a kiss to his neck. Eager to sleep so she could experience that life with her beloved.

Her Mystery Knight.

* * *

The wind howled outside the cave. Neither of them cared. The walls were damp with melted frost. Neither of them cared. Many within the keep miles away were likely searching for them - at least the ones not drunk off their asses did. Neither of them cared, too lost were they in the sweet, familiar embrace of their bare bodies.

"Jon…" moaned Daenerys, head falling back upon the wet walls.

"Dany," Jon murmured back, hot lips and tongue working on the column of her neck, kissing up towards a sweet spot behind her ear. "I love you."

His breath was hot on her ear. Gods, did it drive Dany to the edge of madness. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, nails digging into the hard planes of his back. _"Kessa, Jon… Kessa…"_ The High Valyrian tumbled from her lips, the mighty Mother of Dragons reduced into a puddle of lust, silver hair long freed from its braids and let loose in wild tangles.

Gripping her supple ass so tightly to no doubt leave impressions in the skin, Jon thrust harder. Doubling his pace - knowing she could take it. A long and happy marriage, the Emperor and Empress still young and virile, such familiarity only enhanced the pleasure of their coupling. "Gods… you're perfect."

Hearing his words, Dany melted. Her cunt walls clenching from the love in his voice. _How… how am I so lucky?_ The question was written upon Arya's face but it was Daenerys who felt it at this moment. Watching him pull his head away, grey eyes alight with love and desire as he pounded her deeply - hitting her most sensitive spots inside her - Dany felt her heart racing. She opened her mouth to speak, only for Jon to kiss her. Dany kissed him back. This was much better than words.

Tongues plundering each other's mouths, Jon could feel she was close. The increasing whimpers, growing ardor of her scratching his back. "Shit…" he murmured in her mouth. It was driving him closer as well. Jon bucked his hips faster and faster, unabashedly grunting like a wolf with his release. Greeted with a strangled scream as Dany suddenly clamped down on him.

Their peak and resulting aftershocks had to be over a minute before Dany chuckled into his neck. "Gods…"

He joined her. "Aye. Gods, indeed."

"We are definitely not aged," Dany insisted, remembering Arya's jape - the elder Arya that is. "Grandparents soon we may be, but…"

"I'd rather not think of myself as a grandfather just yet," he shuddered, drawing another laugh from Daenerys. A merry, carefree laugh that lit up her entire face. "I love that."

Allowing her legs to slide to the cave floor - gasping softly when his cock slid out of her - Dany cocked her head at her husband quizzically. "My laugh?"

Jon reached up to cup her cheek. "It shows you're happy." His expression grew sad, mournful. "You never had much happiness the time we met. I've fought to make sure you laugh and smile every moment since."

Blinking back tears, Dany leaned in to press a kiss on his lips. "Oh, my love… you never even have to try. Everything… I have everything I've ever wanted." His resulting smile made her realize just how he felt. All the idle pleasures in the world died at the feet of Jon Targaryen's smile.

Minutes later, the Emperor and Empress were cuddled close in the heated pools, both naked as their namedays. Letting the superheated waters swirl over them, what would be scorching for anyone else a perfect temperature for the two dragons. "I don't like it much, Daenerys," Jon said out of thin air.

From where her head rested on his chest lazily, simply relaxing in the aftermath of their frantic coupling, Dany looked up to see her husband brooding. "What do you not like? Jon… everything's wonderful."

"I know," he sighed. "Rhaegar and Arya married, going off on their progresses across the realm and then to Dragonstone. Saera starting her fostering at Winterfell…" Jon looked wistfully at the snowfall just outside the lip of the cave. "The Red Keep will be quiet without them."

Now Dany understood. The Lightbringer he might be, but Jaehaerys III Targaryen was a softie at heart, just like both Ghost and Rhaegal. "I know, my love." Dany hugged him close, the water rippling out from them. "I'll miss them too, but we still have Daena and Nyra… and Benjen has been lambasting us to teach him dragonriding."

Jon snorted. "Can't put that off for much longer." They rested in silence for a while, simply content in the peace of the moment. Together, unbothered by adversity for the first time in their lives. "It still shocks me how it all came to this… the odds we faced."

Dany nodded. "To think, if the Karstarks didn't need grain, I would have never met you… my love, my darling dragonwolf." Just the thought was too painful to bear.

"We'd have met regardless of the path," Jon answered with conviction.

"You sure?" She looked up at him again, maneuvering to straddle his lap. "That we would have met regardless?"

"Aye, I'm sure." He chuckled. "As everyone keeps saying, we are the song of ice and fire."

She giggled. "Everyone does say that." Wordlessly, she kissed him, one sweet and slow rather than the frantic passion of earlier. The two of them made sure to savor it as if it were the last kiss they'd ever share. Breaking for air, Dany rested her forehead on his. "What a life," she said.

Stroking her back, Jon let out a soothing breath. "The best life."

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending it as it should be ended! Rhaegar and Arya wed at last, Saera and Jon starting their own little relationship, and Dany and Jon as strong as ever Can one ask for anything better?
> 
> Gotta love the scene where Rhaegar puts the cloak back on Arya. I mean, she's not changing families here XD
> 
> I hope all of you enjoyed the story, and please be sure to review :)

**Author's Note:**

> Even after so long, Jon and Dany are as deep in love as when they first met... probably even more in love :D
> 
> And we see Rhaegar and Arya as all but full lovers - the natural progression from where we spotted them in Something About Dragonstone. Not only that, but they have a little Pack of their own in their Kingsguards and direwolves... not to mention their siblings and cousins (we'll see more of them, don't worry).
> 
> Sansa makes an extra appearance here cause... she was another character completely botched. I actually liked her character, but the Sansa we saw wasn't Sansa, it was Dan Weiss being played by Sophie Turner... fuck Dan Weiss.
> 
> Our twins are already so desperate for their parents to acknowledge their love... what is Jon and Dany's angle here?
> 
> Next time, sparring and a dragonride, plus Robb and Marg show their faces :D


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